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RAILROAD CHASE. 

















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE: 


A HISTORY 


OF 


SECRET SERVICE 


IN THE LATE WAR. 


BY 


KEY. WILLIAM PITTENGER. 


“ Storm’d at with shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well; 

Into the jaws of death, 

Into the mouth of hell, 

Rode the six hundred. 

* # * * * # 

“ They that had fought so well 
Came through the jaws of death 
Back from the mouth of hell, 

All that was left of them— 

Left of six hundred.” 



J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

1882 . 


J 



















TO 


THE SURVIVING COMRADES 

OF THE 

CHATTANOOGA RAILROAD EXPEDITION, 

AND TO 

THE FAMILIES OF THOSE WHO PERISHED IN THE 
SAME ADVENTURE, 

Ivcrjml at thar Darin# and buffering 

IS MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. 


3 


NAMES OF THE ADVENTURERS. 


EXECUTED. 

J. J. Andrews, Leader ....Citizen of Kentucky. 


William Campbell .Citizen of Kentucky. 

George D. Wilson .Co. B, Second Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

Marion A. Boss.Co. A, Second Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

Perry G. Shadrack .Co. K, Second Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

Samuel Slayens .Thirty-third Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

Samuel Robinson .Co. G, Thirty-third Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

John Scott .Co. K, Twenty-first Reg’t Ohio Yols. 


ESCAPED IX OCTOBER. 

W. W. Brown 1 ( Engineer ) Co. E, Twenty-first Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

William Knight 2 .Co. E, Twenty-first Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

J. R. Porter 3 .Co. C, Twenty-first Reg’t Ohio Vols. 

Mark Wood 4 .Co. C, Twenty-first Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

J. A. Wilson 5 .Co. C, Twenty-first Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

M. J. Hawkins 6 .Co. A, Thirty-third Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

John Wollam 7 ....Co. C, Thirty-third Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

D. A. Dorsey 8 .Co. H, Thirty-third Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

EXCHANGED IN MARCH. 

Jacob Parrot 9 .Co. K, Thirty-third Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

Robert Buffum 10 .Co. H, Twenty-first Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

William Bensinger 11 .Co. G, Twenty-first Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

William Reddick 12 .Co. B, Thirty-third Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

E. H. Mason 13 . Co. K, Twenty-first Reg’t Ohio Yols. 

William Pittenger 14 .Co. G, Second Reg’t Ohio Yols. 


RESIDENCES IN 1881. 


1 Perrysburg, Ohio. 

2 Minnesota. 

3 Carlisle, Arkansas. 

4 Dead. 

5 Hoskins, Wood County, Ohio. 

6 Topeka, Kansas. 

7 Unknown. 

8 Jefferson, Wisconsin. 


9 Kenton, Ohio. 

10 Dead. 

17 McCombs, Hancock County, Ohio. 

12 Unknown. 

13 Unknown. 

14 Woodbury, N. J. A member of the 
New Jersey Conference of the Methodist 
Episcopal Church. 


4 
























PREFACE. 


War has a secret as well as a public story. Marches 
and battles are open to the popular gaze; but another 
class of enterprises are in their very nature secret, and 
these are scarcely less important and often much more 
interesting than the former. The work of spies and 
scouts, the enterprises that reach beyond the lines of an 
army for the purpose of surprise, the councils of offi¬ 
cers, the intrigues by means of which great results often 
flow from apparently insignificant causes, and all the 
experiences of hospitals and prisons,—these usually fill 
but a small place on the historian's page, though they 
are often of romantic interest, and not unfrequently de¬ 
cide the course and fate of armies. The enterprise de¬ 
scribed in these pages possesses all the unity of a drama, 
from the first plunge of the actors into the heart of the 
enemy's country, through all their adventures and 
changing fortunes, until the few survivors stood once 
more under the old flag! No single story of the war 
combines so many of the hidden, underground elements 
of the contest against rebellion as this. Disguise and 
secrecy, the perils of a forlorn hope, the exultation of 
almost miraculous success, the sufferings of prisoners, 
and the gloom of despair are all mingled in a varied 
and instructive war-picture. 

1 * 


6 



6 


PREFACE. 


In telling the story all fictitious embellishments have 
been rejected. No pains have been spared to ascertain 
the exact truth, and the reader will find names, dates, 
and localities so fully given that it will be easy to ver¬ 
ify the prominent features of the account. 

In narrating those events which fell under his awn 
eye, the writer has waived all scruples of delicacy, and 
used the first personal pronoun. This is far more sim¬ 
ple and direct, while an opposite course would have 
savored of affectation. 

Woodbury, New Jersey, July, 1881. 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I.—A Secret Military Expedition ... 9 

II. —Midnight Consultation. 27 

III. —Companions and Incidents .... 36 

IV. — A Locomotive and Train Captured . . 65 

V. —Unforeseen Hindrances .... 75 

VI.—A Terrible Railroad Chase ... 93 

VII.—A Night in the Woods. 120 

VIII. — In the Enemy’s Power. 136 

IX. —Other Captures. 153 

X. — A Horrible Prison. 170 

XI. —Lights and Shadows of Prison . . . 182 

XII. —The First Tragedy. 197 

XIII. — A Confederate Court-Martial . . . 205 

XIY. —The Crowning Horror. 221 

XV. —Prison Religion. 228 

XVI. —Liberty or Death?. 244 

XVII. —Romantic Escapes. 262 

XVIII. —From Atlanta to the Gulf .... 274 
XIX. —From Atlanta to Richmond .... 293 
XX. —Libby and Castle Thunder .... 308 

XXI. —Sickness and Liberty. 326 

APPENDIX: 

No. I.—Extracts from the Report of Judge-Ad¬ 
vocate-General Holt to the Secretary 

of War.341 

No. II. — A Southern Estimate. 345 

No. III.—A Frenchman’s View of the Chatta¬ 
nooga Railroad Expedition . . . 350 

No. IV. —Old Scenes Revisited. 352 


7 






ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

1. The Chase. Frontispiece. 

2. General O. M. Mitchel. 11 

3. Midnight Consultation. 32 

4. Map of Chattanooga and its Eailroad Connec¬ 

tions .58 

5. Capture of a Train. 71 

6. William A. Puller. 87 

7. A Terrible Descent. 172 

8. Liberty or Death ! .255 

9. Dorsey and Hawkins in the Cumberland Moun¬ 

tains . 272 


8 






CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


CHAPTER I. 

A SECRET MILITARY EXPEDITION. 

As the writer looked up from the manuscript page 
on a warm March afternoon of 1862, a very busy, and 
occasionally an amusing scene was presented. I was 
seated on a gentle, wooded slope which led down to the 
clear and quiet stream of Stone River, in Tennessee. 
Not being at that time u on duty,” I had strolled away 
from the tents which whitened the level fields above, 
and was passing an hour in the pleasant task of pre¬ 
paring “ war correspondence” for the Steubenville Her¬ 
ald. Now and then I lifted my eyes to watch the work 
in progress a few yards farther down the stream. A 
large bridge, burned by the enemy on their retreat a 
few weeks before, was now being rapidly repaired, or 
rather rebuilt. The chief director of the work was 
General O. M. Mitchel, of astronomical fame, in whose 
division I then served. He was in every respect an 
able officer, and understood the construction of railroad 
bridges as well as observing the stars, or moulding raw 
recruits into veteran soldiers. But all his skill and 
science did not save him from becoming a little ridicu¬ 
lous at times. The Union soldier found no difficulty 
in loving his commander and laughing at him at the 
same instant. General Mitchel was now most impa¬ 
tient to complete this bridge, and thus maintain a 

9 



10 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


northern line of communication, while he penetrated 
farther into the South. Being now, for the first time, 
possessed of an independent command, he wished to 
signalize himself by some great blow struck at the most 
vulnerable point in the enemy’s line. He could, there¬ 
fore, scarcely endure the necessary delay caused by burnt 
bridges, and worked like a beaver, and chafed and fret¬ 
ted, and caused the men of his command to perform 
more hard labor than was agreeable. As I saw him 
running from place to place, urging on the idlers, and 
taking hold of any piece of work that presented itself 
as if he had been a common laborer, shouting and scold¬ 
ing, but always knowing just what ought to be done, 
and making surprising progress, I could not help ad¬ 
miring the man, even while I laughed at some exhibi¬ 
tions of superfluous zeal. Mitchel’s scientific educa¬ 
tion, his practical experience, and his inventive genius 
stood him in good stead, as was proved by the rapid 
growth of the bridge before me. The soldiers almost 
idolized their skilful and zealous commander, but this 
did not deprive them of the soldier’s privilege of grum¬ 
bling without stint at his restless activity. He was to 
be found along the guard lines at almost any hour of 
the night, and woe to the sleepy sentinel who failed to 
give the proper challenge or to "turn out” promptly. 
No severe punishments had yet been inflicted, but some 
of the indolent had been terribly frightened, and were 
accustomed to declare that "Old Mitchel” had been 
watching the stars so long that he could not sleep at 
night himself, and was not willing that anybody else 
should ! But the discipline of the troops steadily im¬ 
proved, and the hearty commendation of their com¬ 
mander, who knew how to praise as well as blame, 
made amends for seeming harshness. 

As I watched the working-parties, my attention was 
attracted to one strong-looking soldier who was obvi¬ 
ously shirking. Before many minutes General Mitchel 
saw him too. The man pretended to lift and work, 





Page 11 
















A SECRET EXPEDITION. 


11 


while really doing nothing, and thus became a great 
hindrance, for his example was contagious. Stealthily 
the general stole towards him, and when I saw him take 
a piece of rotten wood in his hand I looked for a scene. 
It came. He dealt the idler a sudden blow that cov¬ 
ered him all over with rotten wood, and nearly took 
him from his feet, but did him no real injury. The 
fellow turned furiously to avenge himself on his assail¬ 
ant, but stood abashed when he saw the face of his com¬ 
mander, and heard the exclamation, “ Go to work, you 
lazy rascal I” The spectators enjoyed the man’s look 
of blank amazement greatly, and the work went for¬ 
ward more promptly than ever. But in a few moments 
the tables were turned. Large framed masses of timber 
were first floated near the position they were to occupy 
in the bridge, at the end of the trestle-work, and then, 
with ropes and pulleys, were slowly and painfully 
hoisted into place. One of these was approaching the 
perpendicular, and the general, in his eagerness, ran to 
the end of a log, which extended over the water, and 
began to encourage the laborers by loud cries of, 
“ Heave, O! heave, O!” as they pulled at the ropes. 
Another party of workmen passed by the shore end of 
the log on which Mitchel stood, carrying- a load of 
timber. Just as they reached the log,—the lazy man 
among them, now lifting as much as any other,—I 
could not see just how it was done, but probably by a 
quick motion of the foot, the general’s log was turned 
so suddenly that he had no choice but to plunge in the 
water. I expected a fearful explosion of indignation, 
and perhaps the summoning of a guard to arrest the 
offender, but was greatly surprised to see Mitchel, as 
soon as the splash enabled me to see at all, stand up in 
the water, which was not more than two feet deep, and 
without even turning towards the shore, continue call¬ 
ing, “ Heave, O! heave, O!” as vigorously as ever. 
There was some laughing, but the soldiers had great 
respect for such coolness and presence of mind. The 


12 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


general made no effort to discover the author of his 
sudden immersion, though he must have known that it 
was not accidental. “ ‘ Old Stars’ can take a joke/’ 
was the approving remark of a soldier close to my 
side. 

I had just finished reading to a friend the newspaper 
article I had been writing, when Captain Mitchel, a 
distant relative of the general’s, and commander of one 
of the companies in the Second Ohio Regiment,—the 
regiment in which I served,—came and sat down by 
me, and asked what news I had been writing to the 
papers. This was always a matter of great interest to 
the officers and soldiers of our volunteer armies, for the 
public letter served to give the families at home a great 
deal of news, and thus to fill out the accounts conveyed 
by private letters. I read the sketch over to him, and 
it suggested a general conversation on the prospects of 
the war. These we regarded as eminently favorable. 
McClellan was about to move towards Richmond with 
an overwhelming force, and we expected him to easily 
capture the rebel capital. Buell, who had been with 
us in our march through Kentucky, had gone South¬ 
west to join Grant. That they would, wheu united, be 
able to drive the enemy far down the Mississippi, even 
if they did not open that river to the Gulf, seemed 
equally sure. But where were we going, that we, with 
only ten thousand men and an adventurous general, 
were being hurried Southeast? There was no enemy 
in our front now, but we could not continue to march 
in that direction very long without finding foes enough. 
We were striking directly between the great armies of 
the Rebellion, and, if we went on far enough, would 
totally sever their connection. At this point in the 
conversation Mitchel exhibited some constraint, as if 
afraid of saying too much. I declared my own opinion, 
which I shared with the greater part of the army, that 
we were bound for Chattanooga, and possibly for At¬ 
lanta, but that the rebels would be sure to run in heavy 


A SECRET EXPEDITION. 


13 


ft 


bodies of troops by rail, and give us all the fighting we 
wanted before reaching even the former place. 

u Possibly they may,” said Mitchel; “ but there are 
ways of looking out for that.” 

“ How ?” I asked, with interest, for I knew that he 
was usually well informed and very intelligent. 

He smiled, and said that “ I might find out some 
time.” 

His manner, much more than his words, piqued my 
curiosity. Besides, there was another matter I had re¬ 
solved to question him about at the first opportunity. 
A few days before several of the best soldiers of our 
regiment had suddenly disappeared. Four of the miss¬ 
ing men were from the company to which I belonged, 
and two others from Mitchel’s company. They had 
been seen in close and apparently confidential conversa¬ 
tion with the regimental officers, and then, without any 
leave-taking, were gone! No one of the private sol¬ 
diers could tell anything about their destination. In 
a moment the hints of Mitchel connected themselves, in 
my mind, with the absence of these men. Had not 
some secret enterprise been set on foot in which they 
were engaged ? If there was any such scheme, I 
would like to find it out, and, if still possible, take a 
part in it. In addition to this motive for curiosity, one 
of the absent men was a young cousin of mine, in whose 
welfare I was deeply interested. 

“ Mitchel,” I said, turning sharply on him, “ I under¬ 
stand that Frank Mills and those other men have been 
sent into the enemy’s lines to perform some important 
and dangerous service. I want you to tell me all 
about it.” 

As soon as I uttered the words I knew I was right. 
Mitchel was silent for a moment, and then asked who 
had told me so much. 

“ No matter about that,” I returned. “ You can 
trust me fully. Tell me what you know.” 

“ I will,” he answered, “ for I am anxious about the 
2 


14 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


boys myself, and want to talk the matter over with 
some friend. I am not sure that we did right in 
letting them go.” 

Rising, we strolled up the stream until we reached a 
solitary place far away from the bridge and the noisy 
workmen. Then getting a seat on a large rock, I 
listened to Captain Mitch el’s story. This conversation 
is one of the most important epochs of my life. So 
strange and romantic were the particulars to which I 
listened, that it was difficult at first to give them perfect 
credence. 

Said Mitchel, “ Do you remember a Mr. Andrews, 
a Kentuckian, who was about our camp last fall ?” 

At first I did not, but a moment after, I recollected 
seeing a fine-looking, well-dressed man standing on the 
street-corner in the town of Prestonburg, up in the 
mountains of Eastern Kentucky. He held carelessly 
on his arm a beautiful Winchester rifle, which I, in com¬ 
mon with many others, had examined with great admi¬ 
ration. I therefore answered MitchePs question in the 
affirmative, though I thought he was beginning rather 
far away from the subject in hand. He continued,— 

" Some of you maintained that he was a rebel citi¬ 
zen, and possibly a spy, who was only pretending to 
be a unionist because our army was at hand.” 

I said that such had been my own opinion when I 
first saw him, for he was the very ideal of a magnificent 
Southern gentleman, but that I had afterwards learned 
that though he was a spy and secret agent, it was on 
the Union side, and that he was high in the confi¬ 
dence of our officers, adding that I had seen the same 
man in our camp again, but had not spoken to him 
after the first occasion. 

“ Well,” continued Mitchel, “ he was, and is, a spy, 
and has been of great service to us. But I sometimes 
fear that we may have trusted him a little too far. 
Our boys are now in Georgia with him.” 

I sprang up from my seat. This was startling 


A SECRET EXPEDITION. 


15 


news. It had, indeed, been asserted by the camp-fires 
—where all events are discussed, and where conjectures 
too often pass for facts—that the missing men had 
turned spies, but I had scouted the idea. I thought 
that at most they might have been sent on ahead of us 
a short distance, to seize some important post in con¬ 
nection with similar details from other regiments, and 
supported by cavalry. But we were a hundred and 
fifty miles from the nearest point of the Georgian State 
line. 

I looked at my companion in astonishment, and ex¬ 
claimed, “ What on earth are they doing in Georgia ?” 

“ Andrews has taken them there,” he said, “ disguised 
as Southern citizens, with the intention of capturing a 
railroad train. He has also engaged a Southern man, 
who is an engineer on the same railroad, to run their 
locomotive, and when they get their train they will start 
for our line and burn every bridge they pass over. 
They will cut all the telegraph wires, and thus leave the 
enemy in helpless rage behind them.” 

My imagination took fire at the picture his few words 
had sketched. A train surprised by a handful of bold 
men in the heart of the enemy’s territory; the passen¬ 
gers and train hands forced to get out under threat of 
instant death, and possibly a desperate fight before this 
was accomplished; then the wires cut, so that no 
lightning message could be flashed ahead; the secret 
confederate—whom there might be a show of com¬ 
pelling by force to mount the engine—set to his work ; 
the train rushing on its way through a hostile country, 
past the towns and camps of the enemy, but rendered 
secure by the two elements of surprise and speed ; the 
great bridges (like those at Green and Stone Rivers 
and other places, which had cost us weary delays and 
hard work in repairing),—all these bursting into flames 
as they were passed, and possibly other damage done be¬ 
fore the daring adventurers returned in triumph to our 
own lines. I knew enough of war to understand, at a 


16 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


glance, the great military importance of thus severing 
railroad communications, for had I not seen our whole 
division brought to a halt, and General Mitch el ren¬ 
dered almost furious with impatience over a single 
burnt bridge? Besides, it required no particular in¬ 
sight to reveal the immense moral effect upon an enemy 
of such a bold stroke far in the centre of his territory. 
It would tend to diffuse distrust and fear through all 
the rebel armies if they were thus made to feel that no 
place in their whole country was safe from the presence 
and the blows of a daring adversary. 

“ Well, what do you think of it ?” said Mitchel, as 
he saw my preoccupation. 

“ Why, it is the grandest thing I ever heard of!” 
was my enthusiastic reply. “ I wish I was with them. 
But do you think that spy can be trusted ? Spies are 
all the time betraying the confidence of one party or 
the other, and if he should be false to us, he has the 
lives of our boys in his hands. I have heard that he 
has been over the lines several times, and if he has 
been a secret rebel all the while, it would be a nice 
stroke of business for him to lead down a party of our 
best men and deliver them to the rebels.” 

“ I have no fear of the fidelity of Andrews,” said 
Mitchel. “ Pie has been too well proved. But I am 
not so sure that he will be able to carry through all 
that he has undertaken, or that our boys can preserve 
their disguise until they reach the right point and are 
ready for the blow. If they should be detected while 
pretending to be rebels, it is not at all unlikely that 
they will be treated as spies and hung up. I wish they 
were back in camp again. But if they get through all 
right and burn the bridges, we will make for Chatta¬ 
nooga as fast as our legs can carry us. r Phis is one of 
the reasons that makes the general so anxious to have 
that bridge done. If we should hear to-morrow, as 
we may at any moment, that those Southern bridges 
are smashed, it would be a race for Chattanooga with 


A SECRET EXPEDITION. 


17 


all the odds in our favor. But you must not breathe 
a word of this to one of the soldiers, or especially 
write of it to the papers, or to any of the relatives of 
the poor fellows, till they are back with us,—if they 
ever come back ! Give me your candid opinion, was 
it right to let them take such a risk ?” 

Without the slightest hesitation I declared that it 
was right, giving the reasons that seemed most weighty. 
War is full of risks. In an obscure skirmish, or by a 
chance shot from the picket-line, the most valuable life 
may be put out. Now, if by a little additional risk a 
few men can do the work of thousands,—the work that 
if done in the ordinary mode would certainly cost a 
score times as many lives as are imperilled,—the risk is 
worth taking. Of course, it would not be right to send 
men on such an enterprise without their consent, but 
in the Union army it was never necessary to force men 
into any dangerous enterprise. Volunteers were always 
plenty enough. 

I asked, further, how many men were engaged, and 
learned with additional astonishment that the detach¬ 
ment from our own regiment—only eight men—was 
all. This force seemed totally inadequate to the great¬ 
ness of the work, but I understood that the risk of 
detection would multiply with the increase of numbers. 
The very smallest number that could serve was, there¬ 
fore, selected* If they succeeded, few were better than 
many. 

After a long conversation, Mitchel and I returned to 
the working-party down the river. The burnt rem¬ 
nants of the old railroad bridge and the rapidly rising 
timbers of the new had now a deeper interest than 
ever. The completion of this bridge and the burning 
of some others far in the South were the two events 
for which that whole division, whose tents dotted the 
meadows behind us, was unconsciously waiting. My 
head was full of conjectures and plans as I walked 
back through the twilight to join my messmates in the 
b 2* 


18 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


tent. I could talk to no one of what I had heard, but as 
I lay awake that night a most important resolution took 
shape. I was weary of the slow movement of the 
army, and of the monotony of a private soldier’s ser¬ 
vice. While trying carefully to do all my duty, and 
winning a fair degree of approval from my officers, I 
yet had no taste for military affairs. If by a little 
extra hazard I could do more for the country, while 
getting rid of distasteful routine and entering into 
a new sphere of work, I was more than willing to 
accept all the hazard involved. It was too late to 
take part in the present attempt, but I resolved to be 
prepared for any opportunity of the kind that might 
again offer. 

Accordingly, in the forenoon of the next day I went 
up to regimental headquarters and told Colonel L. A. 
Harris, of the Second Ohio, that I had a favor to ask 
of him. Major (since General) Anson G. McCook, in 
whose company I had served during the first three 
months of the war, was also present. I told them I 
had ascertained that some of our men had been sent 
out on secret service lately, and that if any similar de¬ 
tails should be made in the future, I wanted the oppor¬ 
tunity of being included. Major McCook, while saying 
some kind things about me, intimated a doubt whether 
my defective vision—I was very near-sighted—might 
not be a hindrance on any perilous service. Colonel 
Harris, however, took a different view of the matter, 
saying he thought that if I dressed in citizen’s clothes, 
and wore my spectacles (as I was accustomed to do even 
in the ranks), no person in the South would suspect me 
of being a soldier, and I was thus only the better fitted 
for any secret service. McCook did not press his ob¬ 
jection, and after learning the reason for my request, 
and trying in vain to find the source of my informa¬ 
tion, Colonel Harris said,— 

“ Pittenger, I don’t know that we will ever send any 
more men out of camp in this manner, but I will give 


A SECRET EXPEDITION . 19 

my promise that if we do, you shall be the first man 
called upon.” 

This Avas perfectly satisfactory. I returned to my 
duty, and in the routine of camp-life waited for several 
days in impatient anxiety. I dreamed at night of 
burning bridges and startling adventures. Duty on 
picket and in the camp lines, however, with other ex¬ 
citements, began to weaken the impression, as day after 
day rolled by with no recurrence of the subject. But 
one day it was told me by a friend that one of the miss¬ 
ing men, a member of Company C, was back again in 
his usual place in line. For some time attempts to get 
him to say where he had been, and whether alone or in 
company, were in vain. He would speak no word by 
which any one could divine the nature of his errand 
while away from us, or the degree of success he had 
met with. I was much disquieted by his return alone, 
but having no special acquaintance, I did not like to 
try to get any information directly from him. But I 
soon learned that he had gone as far as Chattanooga 
and had turned back,—some of his comrades after¬ 
wards thought because he became so sensible of the 
difficulties of his attempt that he resolved to go no 
further in it,—a determination which he had a perfect 
right to make, and which in no way impugned his 
character as a soldier. His own explanation, after¬ 
wards given, which I saw no reason to doubt, was more 
dramatic. He said that he had gone in disguise as far 
as Chattanooga, but had there been recognized by a 
rebel soldier, who was an old acquaintance, and who 
knew that he belonged to the Union army. This man 
heard him telling his false story in a public place with¬ 
out contradicting him, but as soon as he could do so 
unobserved, drew him aside and declared that he re¬ 
membered him, and knew he was down there disguised 
for some bad purpose; but that if he would pledge 
himself to return immediately to the Union lines, he 
would, for the sake of their former friendship, refrain 


20 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


from denouncing him, otherwise his own sense of duty 
would require him to report all he knew to the com¬ 
mander of the post. Under such circumstances our 
comrade judged it most prudent to give and keep the 
pledge required. 

At length the bridge over Stone River was com¬ 
pleted, and there was great rejoicing as the first train, 
laden with army supplies, passed over it from Nash¬ 
ville. Next morning the order was given to the whole 
division to prepare three days’ rations. This was in¬ 
variably the signal for a decided movement. Our lost 
comrades were still away, and no word had reached the 
rank and file of the army of any unusual occurrence 
southward. The uneasiness of General Mitchel and 
the regimental officers of the Second Ohio, and espe¬ 
cially of Captain Sarratt, who commanded the company 
to which I belonged, and my friend, Captain Mitchel, 
was apparent to any careful observer. 

Just before the march began, while we were standing 
in line early the next morning, with the camp all 
broken up, our knapsacks swung, and our haversacks 
filled with rations, waiting only for the word a for¬ 
ward,” Captain Mitchel came over to me and uttered a 
sentence, in a half whisper, that went through me like 
an electric shock. His message was simply this : “ Mills 
is back, and has gone up to headquarters to report.” 
While standing in my place in the ranks I could give 
no answer, nor could I ask any question, but my mind 
was full of surmises. Had the adventurers succeeded, 
and were we now on our way to do our part in the 
great plan,—to strike swift and far into the South, 
while the enemy’s communications were broken ? That 
would involve hard fighting and stirring scenes not far 
ahead. Had they failed ? If so, there would prob¬ 
ably be other attempts,—that is, if the secret had been 
kept,—and then I would have a part in the risk and 
the adventure. At any rate, I was exceeding glad of 
Mills’s return, and I knew that I would find out all 


A SECRET EXPEDITION. 


21 


about it as soon as I coulcl get to talk with him alone. 
As Company K—Mitchel’s—was next my own in the 
line, that opportunity, even on the march, would not 
be long delayed. 

Soon the command to march was given, and the 
column moved southward towards Shelbyvilie, about 
twenty-five miles distant. Before noon I dropped 
out of my place, sought and found Mills, and as we 
plodded along, in the loose order allowed on long 
marches, we had no difficulty in remaining together, 
and yet far enough from other soldiers to talk in 
perfect security. The whole history of my relative’s 
adventures was fully laid open before me. I found 
that all Mitchel had narrated was perfectly accurate, 
but the enormous obstacles to be encountered by such 
an expedition were now brought much more plainly 
into view. Mills said that he and his companions had 
first of all exchanged their uniforms for citizen’s clothes, 
and made provision for the safety of their arms and 
personal effects in the camp. Then, under the direction 
of Andrews, they had scattered in the mountains, to 
the eastward of our camp, representing themselves as 
refugees from the oppressions of the Union troops in 
Kentucky, and had journeyed thus to Chattanooga. 
That town had been reached in about four days. My 
friend pictured in lively colors the manner in which 
he had been compelled to verbally abuse the Union 
cause, and join in praise of the leaders and principles 
of Secession. The squad to which he belonged had no 
particular difficulty in passing themselves as good 
rebels. The man who first returned had been less 
fortunate. At Chattanooga they took passage on the 
cars for Atlanta, and in -due time reached that place, 
where they scattered themselves among the several 
hotels and lived plentifully (they had an abundant 
supply of money) for three days longer. Each hour 
Andrews anticipated the arrival of that Confederate 
engineer of whom Mitchel had spoken to me. But he 


22 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


did not come. All possible inquiries were guardedly 
made concerning him, for it was not safe to appear too 
inquisitive. 

“ How did you feel while thus waiting in suspense ?” 
I asked. 

“ I felt as if I wanted to be back in camp, and had 
no business to be in that town any longer,” replied 
Frank. “ To hear the curses and threats made against 
everything that belonged to the Union, and to be 
obliged to keep perfectly quiet, or to agree with them, 
was more than I could easily endure. And the folks 
about the hotel were more anxious every day to know 
who I was, and I had to tell them lies without number. 
I resolved not to stand it much longer.” 

“ Were you really afraid of being found out, 
Frank?” I queried. “Did you consider yourself in 
much danger ?” 

With great emphasis he answered, “ No money could 
hire me to put myself in such a position again. I 
would have run away if we had been obliged to stay 
much longer.” 

This man was as brave as any human being. I had 
seen him perfectly cool and serene under circumstances 
of great danger, when every one else in the company 
betrayed some sign of fear. I did not suspect him of 
exaggerating the perils of the situation in which he 
was placed, and, having a deep personal interest in the 
matter, I put the question bluntly,— 

“ If men should be wanted to try this thing again, 
would you not go ?” 

“Never!” was the unequivocal response. “If An¬ 
drews and Mitchel want bridges burned, they can go 
themselves and burn them! I will do my duty as a 
soldier, but as to going out among those-” 

The terms applied, and the energy given to the ac¬ 
companying description of the horror of being alone 
among blood-thirsty enemies, feeling that, sleeping or 
waking, a rope was around one’s neck, just ready to be 



A SECRET EXPEDITION. 


23 


tightened on the utterance of a single careless word, 
it is not necessary to transcribe here. 

“ But why did not that man come to help you ? Did 
you find out anything about him ?” 

“ Andrews told us, on the third day after we had 
reached Atlanta, that he had heard through some of 
the railway officials that the engineer had been trans¬ 
ferred to the Mobile and Ohio Railroad to help in run¬ 
ning troops to Corinth” (this was a short time before 
the battle of Shiloh). “ But my own opinion is that 
the man got scared and had himself transferred there 
to get out of a bad scrape.” 

“ But how did Andrews take this disappointment ?” 

“ He was very much cast down. He asked each of us 
if we had ever been engineers or firemen. But no one 
had ever occupied such a position. He hated terribly 
to give up; but, as nothing more could be done, he at 
last told us we might work our way back to camp.” 

“ Where are the other boys ?” 

“ I suppose they are on their way. It was harder 
getting back than going down. Everybody seemed 
to think it natural for us to be going South; but 
we had to make all kind of excuses for ‘ heading the 
wrong way/ as they called it. We had to scatter 
to avoid observation, and travel part of the way by 
night; and if some of them are not discovered and 
either put into the rebel army or hung, I will be very 
glad.” 

“ Do you think Andrews will now give up the job 
of burning those bridges, or will he try again ?” 

“ If he can get men to go, you may be sure he will 
keep at it until he succeeds or dies. But I would never 
go again or advise any one else to do so. Why, he said 
he would stay down several days after we left and make 
a complete survey of the line, for the very purpose of 
trying over again.” 

a What do you think of Andrews himself? Can he 
be trusted ?” 


24 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


“Yes; lie’s as true as steel, and very smart. But I 
am afraid he will venture a little too far, both for him¬ 
self and for those with him, one of these days.” 

I have omitted the many striking incidents that Mills 
narrated to me in the course of this conversation, which 
was more interesting to me than any romance, because 
adventures very similar in their general character to 
those he described will be fully narrated in another 
place. 

I found my way back to my proper place in the regi¬ 
ment, feeling sure that another attempt to destroy the 
Southern communications would be made, in which I 
must engage if I did not positively “ back out”; con¬ 
vinced, also, that it would involve hard labor, much 
peril, and, even with these, great risk of failure. 

The next day others of the Andrews party returned 
to us, and corroborated the accounts given by Mills. 
The day following the remainder arrived in safety. 
They were all glad to get back, and were unanimous 
in declaring that they would not again venture dis¬ 
guised into the enemy’s country under any circum¬ 
stances. They spoke very sparingly about their ex¬ 
periences, for the officers had cautioned them to say 
but little, in view of the possibility of a new venture 
of the same character. 

On Saturday evening, the 5th of April, we camped 
on the banks of Duck Diver, in some pleasant meadows 
about a mile from the town of Slielbyville. The next 
day was delightful. The spring of 1862 opened very 
early, and now the meadows were verdant and the 
birds singing. The calm, quiet, and beauty of that 
Sabbath, with the white tents dotting the level fields, 
and the soldiers luxuriating in one day of rest after the 
hard march, which had been rendered more fatiguing 
by the accompaniments of rain and mud, form a very 
pleasant picture in memory. The next Sabbath came 
to me under entirely different circumstances. I felt 
the pressure of a vague melancholy resting upon me,— 


A SECRET EXPEDITION . 


25 


possibly it was only that pensive feeling often inspired 
by a fresh, bright, and quiet day in early spring; pos¬ 
sibly the faint shadow of coming evil. I devoted the 
greater part of the day to writing letters to friends and 
newspapers,—the last I wrote for weary months. On 
this same day—though we knew it not till afterwards— 
began the great battle of Shiloh, or Pittsburg Landing, 
one hundred and fifty miles west of us. 

On Monday Andrews himself returned to our lines, 
and asked, as I had anticipated, for permission to renew 
his enterprise. He had spent several days along the 
line of the Western and Atlantic Railroad, learning the 
number of trains, their times of running, and every¬ 
thing else likely to be useful. He had then started for 
camp, and being provided with passes, so that he could 
take the most direct road, besides being well mounted, 
he came in almost as soon as the private soldiers who 
started much sooner. 

But not one of the first party would return. They 
were tired of feeling, as one of them expressed it, that 
their necks depended upon a lie. Like Schiller’s diver, 
they had plunged once into the abyss and returned in 
safety; but, unlike that venturous youth, they would 
not make the second and fatal trial. 

The new expedition, as proposed by Andrews, differed 
in three particulars from the first. He wanted a larger 
force,—twenty-four men instead of eight. He had seen 
that it was possible to carry a considerable number of 
men in disguise to the scene of action, and the number 
now requested was none too large for the capture of a 
full railway train or the overpowering of guards at im¬ 
portant bridges. He also wanted some engineers to be 
detailed, in order that no mishap might leave them 
without the power of running their train. Five were 
secured, thus leaving an ample margin, as it was be¬ 
lieved, for the possibility of capture on the way down, 
or of death by the enemy’s bullets in the hour of con¬ 
flict. It thus became an enterprise completely fitted 
3 


B 


26 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


out in Federal lines, without any reliance on help from 
the South. The third point of difference was of more 
importance than a casual glance revealed. The first 
expedition had an abundance of time. A week’s delay, 
even after, the soldiers were in the enemy’s country, 
would have involved no risk, save that of discovery,— 
would, indeed, have been an advantage, as it would 
allow less time for the repair of damages done to the 
Southern railroads before Mitch el’s arrival at Chatta¬ 
nooga. But now it was different. The whole division 
was ready to advance, its course being clearly indicated 
to the enemy, and moments became precious. By 
making the utmost speed it was still possible to have 
- the bridges burned at the right time, but every hour’s 
delay would render the work more difficult, and its suc¬ 
cess more uncertain. The bearing of this question of 
time will be made painfully apparent in our story. 

General Mitchel received the report of Mr. Andrews 
(which also embraced all the information the most skil¬ 
ful spy could have brought concerning the nature and 
disposition of the enemy’s forces), approved his prudence 
in ordering the return of the soldiers, and sanctioned 
the second attempt. He, however, advised caution, 
saying that Andrews must not strike unless he saw a 
good prospect of success; but he made no objection to 
the increase of force, provided volunteers could be ob¬ 
tained. It was easy to secure the five engineers asked 
for without going beyond the limits of the three Ohio 
regiments composing General Sill’s brigade. Of the 
detail as finally made out, nine men belonged to the 
Twenty-first, eight to the Thirty-third, and seven to 
the Second Ohio Regiments. 


MIDNIGHT CONSULTATION. 


27 


CHAPTER II. 

MIDNIGHT CONSULTATION. 

On Monday, April 12, while I was inside my tent 
engaged in some of the little details of work which oc¬ 
cupy a soldier’s time in camp, a comrade pulled open 
the canvas door and called out,— 

“ Pittenger, Captain Sarratt is looking for you.” 

I went out and met the captain, and together we 
walked up the street formed by the two rows of tents 
to the larger tent occupied by the company officers, 
which stood across the street at the upper end. He 
took me inside, and then said, with a sigh,— 

“ Colonel Harris has just sent me word that you are 
To go with Andrews down to Georgia. I do not know 
why he has selected you, but I advise you not to go. 
You have perfect liberty to refuse.” 

I told him that so far from refusing my mind was 
fully made up to accept, and that I had already ar¬ 
ranged with Colonel Harris to that effect. Sarratt was 
surprised to hear this, but urged every argument in his 
power to dissuade me; telling me that the safe return 
of the four who had been out on the former expedition 
had lifted a great burden from his heart; but that if I 
went, it would be no better than before. I was deeply 
moved by his evident concern, but had gone too far to 
retract. I asked if any other member of our company 
was to go. He answered in the negative, saying that 
he understood that but one from each company was to 
be detailed. Finding persuasion in vain, he gave me 
a pass to Shelbyville, where I could see Andrews and 
procure all necessaries for the journey. I left him, 
deeply impressed by the kindness of the man, which 


28 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


led him to regard the soldiers under his command as 
children, for whose welfare he felt himself in a great 
degree responsible. 

No one of my comrades yet knew of the intended 
expedition. In the afternoon I took a friend with me 
and strolled into Shelbyville, a well-built village of a 
few hundred inhabitants, and purchased some articles 
of clothing, but was not able to find a complete suit. 
A number of persons were engaged in making similar 
purchases—among others, the sergeant-major of our 
regiment, Marion Ross. By watching the character 
of his purchases and by a few careful questions, I found 
that his business was the same as my own. No side- 
arms could be found, but I knew that all lack in that 
direction could easily be supplied in camp. Getting 
away from all other company, Ross and I strayed 
through the town for some time, keeping a sharp look¬ 
out, until, at length, we saw Andrews. His striking 
personal appearance made it easy to recognize him, and, 
approaching, we told him that we were ordered to re¬ 
port to him. After scrutinizing us a moment, and ask¬ 
ing us the company and rank we held, he told us that 
it would not be prudent to talk much in so public a 
place, but to overtake him after dark a mile or more 
east of Shelbyville, on the road toward Wartrace, and 
he would there give us full explanations, and allow us 
to return to our regiments if not satisfied with his 
plans. With these few words we parted from him, and 
went back to our tents for final arrangements. I bor¬ 
rowed the additional clothing I needed from one of the 
former adventurers. All my arms and equipments I 
put carefully in order, packed my uniform in my knap¬ 
sack to be left in the care of the proper authorities, ar¬ 
rayed myself in citizen’s clothes, and stepped out of my 
tent. The soldiers who were idling around passed the 
word to their comrades who were in their tents, read¬ 
ing, playing cards, or amusing themselves in the various 
ways incident to camp-life, and soon almost the whole 


*MIDNIGHT CONSULTATION. 


29 


company—indeed, all who were not absent on guard 
duty—thronged around and commenced all kinds of 
questions. “ Pittenger, going to desert ? Going home ? 
Going out as a spy ? Got a discharge ? Got a fur¬ 
lough ?”—were a few of the inquiries that rained from 
every quarter. At the same time I heard it asserted 
that several other men were dressing up in the same 
manner. I answered all questions in the affirmative, 
and stepped over to the company street adjoining our 
own—that of Company K—and sought the tent in 
which Frank Mills messed. He had a very good re¬ 
volver which I wanted to borrow. As I entered, he 
read the situation in a glance. 

“ So, you are going with Andrews.” 

I nodded, and hastened to add, “ I want your re¬ 
volver.” 

u You are welcome to the revolver, but if you know 
when you are well off you will stay where you are. 
Because I was fool enough to go, it does not follow 
that you need be.” 

I did not argue the question, but he saw that it was 
settled, and he gave me the weapon, with a liberal sup¬ 
ply of cartridges. I was now ready, and the gravity 
of the situation forced itself more clearly upon my ap¬ 
prehension. I did not expect to return to camp until 
the proposed enterprise had been accomplished. Con¬ 
sidering, therefore, that so much was already known in 
camp from the report of the former party, and from 
seeing me arrayed as I was, I could not understand 
that it would be any advantage for me to steal away 
unnoticed. With this view, I went up to Captain 
Sarratt’s quarters and bade him good-by. He was al¬ 
most overcome with emotion, and could not muster a 
single one of his accustomed good-natured jokes. Then 
came the farewells to tried comrades. Few of them 
had any distinct conception of the nature of my errand, 
but they knew it was secret and dangerous, and this 
was enough to excite their apprehension. They labored 
3 * 


30 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


hard to dissuade me. The devotion of one of their 
number, my inseparable companion, Alexander Mills, 
was especially affecting. Though he had been lying 
in our tent very sick all day, he now crawled to the 
door and begged me not to go. Finding that I was 
fully determined, he hurried as fast as his tottering 
steps would allow to headquarters, for permission to go 
along! Notwithstanding his physical inability, he per¬ 
sisted in his request until the colonel threatened to 
have him put under arrest. Had he been well he 
would not have been refused, as he was a most excel¬ 
lent soldier; but in the trying times that followed, it 
was a great satisfaction to me that he was left behind. 
Poor fellow! he lost his life while carrying the flag 
of the Second Ohio at the battle of Lookout Mountain, 
eighteen months later, and now sleeps in the beautiful 
National Cemetery at Chattanooga,—that town towards 
which our steps were now bent. 

When all the farewells were over I strolled back to 
Shelbyville, meeting Sergeant Ross as we had arranged, 
and passed the time pleasantly with him in looking 
about the village until about dark, when we inquired 
the road to Wartrace, and started for the rendezvous 
that Andrews had appointed. We walked very leis¬ 
urely, expecting that some of our number, who were 
probably behind, would soon overtake us, and having 
a curiosity to ascertain whether we could recognize 
them by speech or manner as belonging to our party. 
We saw several persons, but they were travelling the 
opposite way, and we began to be apprehensive that 
we had taken the wrong road. 

As we journeyed on, we noticed a house surrounded 
by a yard, and Ross proposed getting a drink of water. 
Crossing the fence we went up to the house, but before 
we reached the door, a dog came up silently behind my 
companion, and, biting his leg, ran under the house 
before a revolver could be drawn. 

The bite was not severe, and I laughed heartily at 


MIDNIGHT CONS UL TA TION. 3 1 

his mishap ; but after drinking, and before reaching 
the fence, the same dog rushed out once more. Ross 
saw him in time, and sprang over the fence, but I sat 
on the top of it in fancied security. The malicious 
creature sprang at me, seized my coat, and tore a large 
piece out of it. The same coat, thus torn, I wore 
during the whole of the year through which our ad¬ 
ventures extended. The incident was trivial, but in 
the deepening darkness, with a thunder-storm, which 
now began to mutter in the distance, approaching, un¬ 
certain as to where our comrades were, and at the be¬ 
ginning of a desperate enterprise, it stands out in memory 
with lurid distinctness. To a superstitious person it 
might have seemed ominious of the results of that ex¬ 
pedition in which Ross perished, and from which I re¬ 
turned a shattered and disabled invalid. 

A pistol-shot easily cleared us of the dog, and we 
pursued our way,—not rejoicingly, for our situation 
grew every moment more perplexing. Not one of 
our comrades was visible, and we were almost certain 
we had taken the wrong road. Finally, we resolved 
to retrace our steps, arid try to get in Shelbyville 
some better clue to our journey. Unless we could ob¬ 
tain further instructions, we knew not how or where 
to go. We did not like to return to camp, for that 
would probably delay us too long to take part in the 
enterprise, and the failure to go, after our affecting 
leave-taking, would have formed a ludicrous anticli¬ 
max, and probably have been charged to cowardice. At 
a cross-road in sight of Shelbyville, where we felt sure 
that any of the adventurers who obeyed the directions 
we had received must pass, we sat down and waited 
nearly an hour longer. 

Our patience was rewarded. We had started too 
soon, and from this miscalculation all our perplexity 
arose. A few men, whom we recognized almost in¬ 
stinctively as belonging to our party, came along the 
road in the right direction. A little guarded conver- 


32 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


sation showed us that we were right, and we strolled 
slowly on with them. Shortly afterwards others over¬ 
took us, among whom was Andrews. This was a great 
relief, as we now had a guide. Soon we were as far 
from Shelbyville as Ross and I alone had been, and 
a few hundred yards farther on fell in with still other 
men. Our party had so greatly increased as to be quite 
conspicuous, and it was advisable to add still further 
security to the cover of the night. Accordingly, we 
left the road for some distance, and, marching silently, 
were soon at the appointed rendezvous. 

A little thicket of dead and withered trees, a short 
distance from the road, and sufficiently open to assure 
us that no listener was near, was the place of our assem¬ 
blage. Never was a consultation preparatory to some 
desperate deed held under more fitting circumstances. 
The storm which had been gathering all the evening 
was now near. Black clouds covered one half the sky, 
and the young moon, low down in the west, was soon 
obscured. The frequent flashes of lightning, more vivid 
in the darkness, and the low roll of thunder that fol¬ 
lowed, grew continually more emphatic, forming most 
startling interruptions to the earnest but suppressed 
words of our leader. It is very singular that amid 
these ominous surroundings, which fitted so well the 
character of the business in hand, one ordinary sound 
stands out in my memory, far more clear and distinct 
than any part of the scene. Far off I heard the bark or 
howl of a dog,—no doubt at some farm-house,—roused 
either by the coming storm which began to sway the leaf¬ 
less boughs above us, or by the passing of some belated 
traveller. Popular superstition would probably have 
considered such a sound as ominous of evil; and most 
of us are superstitious when young, in the dark, and 
entering upon unknown dangers. 

We formed a close circle around Mr. Andrews while 
he revealed to us his daring plans. In a voice as soft 
and low as a woman’s, but tremulous with suppressed 





























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































MIDNIGHT CONSULTATION. 


33 


enthusiasm, he painted the greatness of the project we 
were to attempt, the sublimity of rushing through a 
hostile country at the full speed of steam, leaving flaming 
bridges and raging but powerless foes behind. But he 
did not disguise the dangers to be encountered. 

“ Soldiers,” he said, “ if you are detected while en¬ 
gaged in this business, the great probability is that you 
will be put to death,—hung as spies, or massacred by 
a mob. I want you to clearly understand this, and if 
you are not willing to take the risk, return to camp, 
and keep perfectly quiet about it.” 

A murmur all around the circle conveyed the assur¬ 
ance that we would follow him to the last extremity. 

“ Our plan,” he continued, “ is simply this: you are 
to travel on foot, or by any conveyance you can hire, 
either to Chattanooga or some station not far from that 
point on the Memphis and Charleston Railroad ; then 
you can take passage on the cars down to Marietta; 
that will be our next place of assembling, and not At¬ 
lanta. You must be there by Thursday evening, ready 
to take passage on the cars northward again by Friday 
morning. I will be there as soon as you, and tell you 
what more is to be done.” 

“But how about money to pay our way?” was 
asked. 

“ I have plenty of Confederate money, and will share 
it among you before we part. As to your story, you 
cannot do better than to tell everybody that you are 
Kentuckians coming South to get away from the 
Yankees, and to join the Confederate army; only be 
careful to have always some plausible reason for going 
farther before joining. A great many Kentuckians 
have gone Soutji by this route, and are very heartily re¬ 
ceived. If you will go eastward through War trace and 
Manchester, you will get into the track they usually 
take, and by then turning south, you will not appear 
to be heading from the Union army. If any one of 
you are questioned closely, you may say you are from 


34 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


Fleming County, for I happen to know that no soldiers 
from that county are in this part of the country.” 

All of these directions were eagerly listened to, but 
the closing one afterwards bore disastrous fruit. 

One of the soldiers asked, “ If any of us are sus- 
pected, and find we can’t get away, what would you 
advise us to do ?” 

“ Enlist without hesitation in the rebel army,” was 
the response. a You are fully authorized to do that, 
and no one of this party will be accused of desertion, 
even if captured among the rebels. I would be sorry 
to lose any one of you, but it will be far better that you 
should serve awhile with the enemy than to acknowl¬ 
edge who you are, and thus risk the disclosure of the 
enterprise.” 

“ But is it likely that we could get the chance thus 
to enlist?” it was further asked. 

“Most certainly,” said Andrews. “ They are taking 
all the prisoners out of the jails and enlisting them. 
They are picking up men who have run away from the 
conscription wherever they can find them, and serving 
them in the same manner. If you tell your story and 
stick to it, even if they are not satisfied that you are 
telling the truth, they will put you into the service. 
You can stay until some dark night on picket. But 
I hope you will escape all trouble, and all meet me at 
Marietta safely. Break this party up into squads of 
three or four, and don’t recognize each other on the 
way. I will ride along the same country you are trav¬ 
elling, and give you any help or direction in my power. 
But you must not recognize me unless sure that we are 
not observed.” 

There was but one subject on which I cared to ask 
any questions, and that related to a distant contingency. 
I was well informed as to the first part of the intended 
enterprise. 

“ Suppose we succeed in capturing the train,” I said, 
“ and in burning the bridges, are we then to leave the 


MIDNIGHT CONSULTATION. 


35 


train, and try to steal back to our lines in the same way 
we are now going South ?” 

“ By no means,” replied Mr. Andrews. “ We will 
run the train right through Chattanooga, and westward 
until we meet Mitchel, who by that time will be coming 
eastward on the road from Memphis. If we should not 
quite reach him, we will get so close that we can dash 
through in a body.” 

This was satisfactory as far as it went, but there was 
still another contingency. More than anything else I 
dreaded being left alone in an unknown country. 

“ If we fail to run the captured train through Chat¬ 
tanooga, will we then disperse or stick together?” 

“ After we meet at Marietta, we will keep together, 
and, if necessary, cut our way back to our own lines. 
Form your squads now, and I will give out the money.” 

Swiftly we selected our companions. There was lit¬ 
tle time for choice. Most of the men were strangers. 
The darkness was intense, and the thunder-peals almost 
overhead. In a moment we formed six or seven little 
groups. My former comrade, Ross, stood with another 
man or two beside Andrews. Two men from Captain 
Mitchefs company and one from the next company to 
that in the regimental line stood by my side. Andrews 
went from group to group, giving out the money freely, 
and answering questions that were still asked. When 
this was accomplished, he addressed himself once more 
to the whole number, and we crowded around to listen 
to his parting w r ords. They gave us the fullest insight 
into the whole plan we had yet received. 

“ To-morrow morning,” said he, “ Mitchel, with his 
whole army, will start on a forced march right south to 
Huntsville. He will capture that town not later than 
Friday (it was now Monday night), and will then turn 
east towards Chattanooga. We must burn the bridges 
south of Chattanooga the same day, for after that, the 
road will be crowded with trains bringing reinforce¬ 
ments against him and running property away, and 


36 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


our task will be very much harder. So we have no 
time to lose. We must be at Marietta on Thursday 
evening. The last train for that station leaves Chatta¬ 
nooga at five o’clock in the afternoon. Be sure to catch 
it. Good-by.” 

He gave each of us his hand with a hearty pressure 
and fervent good wishes. Hot many moments after, the 
storm broke over us with all its fury. The rain fell in 
torrents. The last glimpse I caught of Andrews as 
my party of four hurried on their prescribed course 
was by means of a broad glare of lightning that made 
the drenched landscape for a moment as bright as day. 
He had just parted from the last group and was gazing 
after us. 


CHAPTER III. 

COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS. 

Who was this Mr. Andrews, from whom we had 
just parted in storm and darkness,—the man from 
whose brain sprang the Chattanooga Railroad Expedi¬ 
tion, and to whose keeping we had so fearlessly com¬ 
mitted our lives? Few of us knew much about him at 
that time, but became wiser afterwards. As he is the 
hero of the earlier part of this story, it may be well to 
give the reader the benefit of all the information as to 
his character and history subsequently obtained. 

Mr. J. J. Andrews was born in that part of Western 
Virginia known as the “ Pan Plandle,” on the eastern 
bank of the Ohio River, and only separated from my 
own county of Jefferson by that stream. While quite 
young he had removed to the mountains of Eastern 
Kentucky, settling in Fleming County. Here he ac¬ 
quired considerable wealth, but at the outbreak of the 



COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS. 


37 


civil war lost most of it again. While in business here 
he travelled over much of the South, and became ac¬ 
quainted with many men whom the war afterwards 
threw into prominence. At the first outbreak of hos¬ 
tilities he joined the Union army, not as a soldier, but 
in the still more useful and dangerous character of a 
spy and secret negotiator. He accompanied General 
Nelson in his Eastern Kentucky campaign, on which 
occasion I had seen him at Prestonburg, and afterwards 
he journeyed back and forth two or three times from 
Nashville before the capture of that city. He also 
spent several days in Fort Donelson during the week 
preceding its capture by General Grant. At this place 
he narrowly escaped detection. Subsequently he vis¬ 
ited Atlanta and brought back much valuable informa¬ 
tion. By representing himself as a blockade-runner, 
and carrying southward through our lines articles of 
small bulk but of great value to the enemy, he secured 
their confidence and brought back information a hun¬ 
dredfold more valuable. This business was pecuni¬ 
arily profitable to himself as well as very serviceable 
to the Union army. A Mr. Whiteman, of Nashville, 
afterwards testified that he had paid him ten thou¬ 
sand dollars for one cargo, the most of which was clear 
profit. Some of the Southern officers with whom he 
was intimate had bestowed upon him passes authorizing 
him to come and go through their lines at pleasure. It 
is not my intention to offer any apology for a man who 
thus betrays the confidence even of rebels. What jus¬ 
tice requires to be said on this subject will find a more 
appropriate place in explaining the position of those 
who accompanied him in his last and most perilous 
journey. His occupation was one of the utmost dan¬ 
ger, and he could not expect much mercy if detected. 
He had even gone the length of taking the oath of al¬ 
legiance to the Southern Confederacy, though he was 
passionately loyal to the old government. Indeed, his 
hatred for secession and everything connected with it 


38 CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 

had become the more intense from the very disguise he 
so frequently assumed; and the desire to work all pos¬ 
sible injury to that cause had far more influence in in¬ 
ducing him to pursue his perilous vocation than any 
hope of reward. I have since been told by Southern 
authorities that he acknowledged being promised fifty 
thousand dollars reward in case he succeeded in de¬ 
stroying the bridges from Atlanta to Chattanooga, but 
I never heard of such a contract. Certainly no reward 
whatever was promised directly or indirectly to the 
soldiers who accompanied him, and I never heard 
Andrews himself speak of expecting any pecuniary 
recompense. 

Mr. Andrews was nearly six feet in height, of power¬ 
ful frame, black hair, and long, black, and silken 
beard, Roman features, a high and expansive forehead, 
and a voice fine and soft as a woman’s. Of polished 
manners, stately presence, and more than ordinary per¬ 
sonal beauty, wide information, great shrewdness and 
sagacity, he was admirably fitted to win favor in a 
community like that of the South, which has always 
placed a high value on personal qualities. He had also 
the clear forethought in devising complicated schemes, 
and the calmness in the hour of danger necessary for 
the perilous game he played. Carrying his life in his 
hand whenever he ventured beyond the Union pickets, 
involved continually in dangers, where a single thought¬ 
less word, or even an unguarded look, might lead to 
detection and death, he had learned to rely absolutely on 
his own resources, and to contemplate with easy famili¬ 
arity enterprises that would have looked like sheer 
madness to one without this preliminary drill. 

But it was said that even he had grown tired of this 
perpetual risk, and intended, if successful in this last 
and most difficult enterprise, to retire to peaceful life. 
A tender influence conspired to the same end, and im¬ 
parts a dash of romance to his story. He was engaged 
to be married in the following June, and intended then 


COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS. 39 

to retire from the army. Alas! June had a far different 
fate in store for him. 

At our interview in the afternoon, as well as in the 
midnight consultation, Andrews impressed me as a man 
who combined intellect and refinement with the most 
dauntless courage. Yet his pensive manner, slow 
speech, and soft voice indicated not obscurely what I 
afterwards found to be almost his only fault as a leader, 
—a hesitancy in deciding important questions on the 
spur of the moment, and in backing his decision by 
prompt, vigorous action. This did not detract from 
his value as a secret agent when alone, for then all his 
actions were premeditated and accomplished with sur¬ 
passing coolness and bravery; but it was otherwise in 
commanding men in startling and unforeseen emergen¬ 
cies. This trait of character will be more fully devel¬ 
oped in the course of the story. 

How were the soldiers selected who assembled that 
evening at the rendezvous? This question was asked 
with curiosity and wonder by the enemy, and is of 
great importance in estimating the treatment of such 
of their number as were afterwards captured. The 
enemy could not, by their utmost exertions, obtain cor¬ 
rect information 011 this subject; but there is now no 
reason for reticence. The nature of the enterprise was 
such that it could not be publicly explained and vol¬ 
unteers called for, as it was quite possible that spies of 
the enemy were in our camp; neither was it right, ac¬ 
cording to the laws of war, to divest soldiers of their 
uniform and place them under the orders of a spy 
without their full consent. A medium course was 
adopted, which avoided the opposite difficulties as far 
as possible. The captains who were ordered to furnish 
each a man gathered a few of their soldiers about them 
in a quiet way, and stated that a volunteer was wanted 
for a very dangerous enterprise. Of those who pro¬ 
fessed willingness to go one was selected, taken aside 
from the others, and told simply that he was to be sent 


40 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


disguised into the heart of the enemy’s country, under 
the orders of a Southern citizen, whom the command¬ 
ing officers trusted fully. If they felt like engaging 
in this service, with all its risks, they could see this 
man and learn more; but if not, they would be at lib¬ 
erty to decline the dangerous honor. In one or two 
cases these preliminary explanations were so vague that 
the men addressed did not fairly understand the matter, 
and subsequently declared that if they had been more 
fully informed they would not have taken the first 
step. After they met Andrews, however, they felt that 
their reputation was at stake, and were not willing to 
“ back out.” In one or two other cases the men were 
merely selected by their captains and ordered, without 
any preliminary explanations, to report to Andrews 
outside of the lines. 

Twenty-four men were thus detailed, twenty-three 
of whom met at the rendezvous. The twenty-fourth 
we never heard of; whether he tried to reach us and 
failed, or whether some one of the captains who was to 
furnish a man was unable to induce any one to accept 
the dangerous honor, is uncertain. Indeed, there must 
have been a failure' of two men, for we had one with 
us who was not originally expected to go. Captain 
Mitchel had one man to furnish, and Perry G. Shad- 
rach was chosen. William Campbell, a native of 
Salineville, Ohio, but for many years a citizen of Ken¬ 
tucky, a man of wild and adventurous habits, was vis¬ 
iting Shadrach, and at once asked and obtained permis¬ 
sion to go with him. Though he was only a civilian, 
we always spoke of him as an enlisted soldier of Cap¬ 
tain Mitchel’s company. 

While we are splashing along in the darkness and 
under the fast-falling rain, it may be a good time to de¬ 
scribe the members of the squad with whom I travelled. 
Shadrach and Campbell were two of its members. The 
former was small but roundly built, a merry, reckless 
fellow, often profane, easily put out of temper, but very 


COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS. 


41 


kind, and willing to sacrifice anything for a friend. 
Campbell was physically the strongest man of the 
whole party and possibly of MitchePs division as well. 
He weighed two hundred and twenty pounds, was per¬ 
fectly proportioned, very active, apparently fond of 
danger for its own sake, and as true as steel. Neither 
of these two men possessed much skill in duplicity or 
shrewdness in planning. They were willing to leave 
the task of asking and answering questions to their 
comrades, but were always ready to bear their full 
share in action. 

The third, George D. Wilson, of Cincinnati, was of 
very different character. He was not highly educated, 
though he had read a great deal, but in natural shrewd¬ 
ness I have rarely, if ever, known his equal. He was 
of middle age, whilst most of us had just passed out 
of boyhood. He had traveled extensively, and had 
observed and remembered everything he encountered. 
In the use of fiery and scorching denunciations he was 
a master, and took great delight in overwhelming an 
opponent with an unmeasured torrent of abuse. In 
action he was brave and cool; no danger could frighten 
him, no emergency find him unprepared. The friend¬ 
ship I felt for him grew steadily until his tragic death. 
I depended on his judgment and advice more than on 
that of any one in the whole expedition. 

The writer was first corporal in Company G of the 
Second Regiment of Ohio Volunteers, and had just 
been promoted to the position of sergeant. I was 
twenty-two years of age, a native of Jefferson County, 
Ohio, had been reared on a farm, had taught school 
in the winters, and more recently had entered on the 
study of law. My opportunities for acquiring knowl¬ 
edge were very limited, but had been tolerably well 
improved. I had read a good many volumes and 
gained a fair English education. For war and war¬ 
like affairs I had not the slightest taste, and was indeed 
so near-sighted that it was very doubtful whether I 
4 * 


42 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


could ever make an efficient soldier. When the call 
for three months’ troops was made at-the bombardment 
of Fort Sumter, I felt that the emergency was so great 
as to require the services of every patriot, and immedi¬ 
ately enlisted. I did not then contemplate a longer 
term of service, as I believed that the government 
would be able to organize an adequate force within that 
period from those who were better adapted to the pro¬ 
fession of arms. My decision to enter the ranks was 
not made without some forethought. Just previous to 
putting my name to the enlistment paper, I took a soli¬ 
tary night walk and tried to bring up in imagination 
all the perils and discomforts that were possible in 
military service, asking myself whether I was willing 
to endure any of them that might fall to my lot as the 
result of the step I then contemplated. Having de¬ 
cided, I returned to the mass-meeting (convened in the 
court-house of Steubenville, Ohio) and entered my name 
as a volunteer. The company formed that night was 
hurried to Washington, and on the route was organized 
with others into the Second Ohio Regiment. During 
the three months’ service our only experience of fight¬ 
ing was in the badly-managed battle, or rather skirmish, 
of Bull Run. On the battle-field, when the tide of 
fortune turned against us, I concluded that I ought to 
re-enlist for two reasons. It was hard to quit the army 
with no experience but that of defeat, and the country’s 
need of men was still urgent. When the Second Ohio 
was reorganized for three years’ service, I therefore con¬ 
tinued in the ranks. We were sent to Eastern Ken¬ 
tucky, and succeeded, after some trifling engagements, 
in clearing that part of the State from rebels. We were 
then ordered to Louisville, and greatly to my delight 
were put under the command of the astronomer Mitchel. 
A few years before I had studied astronomy enthusias¬ 
tically, and had even gone so far as to construct a ten- 
foot telescope for my own use. This similarity of 
tastes led me to feel greatly delighted, and almost ac- 


COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS. 


43 


quainted, with our new general. His fame as an as¬ 
tronomer did not guarantee his success in war; but the 
ability displayed in one profession was a hopeful indi¬ 
cation for the other. Our division participated in the 
advance upon Bowling Green and afterwards upon 
Nashville. This service offered no hardship except 
wintry marches, for the capture of Fort Donelson by 
General Grant had broken the enemy’s resistance. 
During this march there was not perfect accord between 
Mitchel and his less energetic superior, General Buell. 
Even the soldiers learned something of their disputes, 
and were much gratified when, at Nashville, Mitchel 
was detached from the main army and left to operate 
independently. In three days he marched to Murfrees- 
borough, where this narrative opens. 

On parting from Andrews we worked our way east¬ 
ward, keeping, not far from the railroad leading to' 
Wartrace. We did not wish to travel very far through 
the rain, which was almost pouring down, but only to 
get well beyond the Federal pickets, so as to have a 
clear track for a long journey on the following day. 
We wished to elude our own pickets, not only to avoid 
detention, but to gain a little practice in such work. 
It was our intention to get that night beyond War- 
trace, where our last outpost in that direction was sta¬ 
tioned; but our progress was so slow and fatiguing 
that we changed our minds, and determined to find a 
lodging at once. This resolution was more easily made 
than accomplished. 

For a long time we searched in vain. It seemed as 
if the country was uninhabited. At length the bark¬ 
ing of a dog gave a clue, which was diligently followed. 
The better to prosecute the search, we formed a line 
within hearing distance of each other, and then swept 
around in all directions. A barn was our first dis¬ 
covery, but we were so completely wet and chilled that 
we resolved to persevere in hope of a bed and a fire. 

Shortly after, finding a rude, double log house, we 


44 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE . 


roused the inmates and demanded shelter for the night. 
The farmer was evidently alarmed, but let us in, and 
then began to investigate our character. 

I narrate minutely the events that accompanied our 
first setting out, not so much for their intrinsic interest, 
as for the sake of giving a vivid idea of the conduct re¬ 
quired by the nature of our expedition. This may also 
be a good place to answer a question often asked, u How 
can the equivocation and downright falsehood that fol¬ 
lows be justified?” I am not bound to attempt any 
formal justification; but it is easy to show that all the 
moral question involved is only a branch of the larger 
question as to the morality of war. In its very nature, 
war is compounded of force and fraud in nearly equal 
quantities. If one of the necessary ingredients be wrong, 
the other can hardly be right. The most conscientious 
general thinks nothing of making movements with the 
sole purpose of deceiving his adversary, or of writing 
absolutely false despatches for the same purpose. If it 
be right to kill our fellow-beings, I suppose it is also 
right to deceive them in order to get a better chance to 
kill them! The golden rule, which is the basis of all 
morality, has but little place as between hostile armies 
or nations. To find where some unsuspecting persons 
are asleep, and steal upon them, begin to shoot and stab 
before they can wake to defend themselves, would, in 
peace, be thought a crime of the most dastardly and 
ferocious character; but, in war, it is only a surprise, 
and, if successful, confers the greatest honor upon those 
who plan and execute it. Are there two sets of morals, 
—the one for peace, the other for war ? “ But,” the 

objector may continue, “ is not a constant resort to 
falsehood in a secret expedition peculiarly dishonor¬ 
able?” Let us look this question fairly in the face. 
All armies employ spies, and the old adage, u The re¬ 
ceiver is as bad as the thief,” is here fully applicable. 
A general who induces a man, by the hope of money 
or promotion, to go disguised into the enemy’s lines, 


COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS. 


45 


with a lie in his mouth, for the general’s advantage, is 
a full partner in the enterprise, and cannot throw off 
his share of the guilt. It is true that the laws of war 
throw all the odium on the spy. But the generals, and 
not the spies, made the laws of war. Besides, there is 
no necessary connection between the laws of war and 
the laws of morality. The former are merely the rules 
men construct for the regulation of the most tremendous 
of all their games, and can never affect the essence of 
right and wrong. I do not wish to argue the abstract 
right of deceiving an enemy, or of deviating from the 
strict truth for any purpose whatever. It is enough 
for my purpose to show that deception is an element in 
all war. The candid reader will also consider that 
most of us were very young. The common sentiment 
of the camp was that deceiving a rebel in any manner 
was a meritorious action. With the full sanction of 
our officers, we had entered upon an expedition which 
required disguise and deception. We had been ex¬ 
pressly told that we were not even to hesitate in join¬ 
ing the rebel army,—which implied taking the oath 
of allegiance to the Confederacy,—if that step became 
necessary to avoid detection. In the whole of this ex¬ 
pedition we were true to each other and to the mission 
upon which we had entered, but we did not hesitate at 
any kind or degree of untruthfulness directed towards 
the enemy. Such was the effect of our resolution in 
this direction that no one, so far as I remember, ever 
expressed any sorrow or remorse for any of the false¬ 
hoods that were so plentifully employed. Indeed, 
while the war lasted, I did not find a single person, in 
the army or out, who ever criticised our expedition from 
the moral stand-point. There seemed to be some kind 
of an instinctive feeling that the revolted States had 
forfeited all their rights by rebellion,—even that of 
having the truth told to them. I confess that decep¬ 
tion was very painful to me at first, and from inclina¬ 
tion, as well as policy, I used it as sparingly as possi- 


46 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE . 


ble. But practice made it comparatively easy and 
pleasant, within the limits indicated above. 

We did not wait for all these reasonings before we 
began to practise deception upon our host. He was 
informed that we were Kentuckians, disgusted with 
the tyranny of the Lincoln government, and seeking 
an asylum in the free and independent South. His 
reply was a grateful surprise. “ Oh,” said he, “ you 
come on a bootless errand, and might as well go home 
again and make the best of it. The whole South will 
soon be as much under Lincoln as Kentucky is.” 

“ Never!” we answered. “ We’ll fight till we die, 
first!” 

At this the old man chuckled quietly, but only said, 
“ Well, we’ll see, we’ll see A We found him to be an 
enthusiastic Union man, but firmly maintained our own 
assumed character. He provided us with a good sup¬ 
per, late as it was, and with good beds, which we re¬ 
fused to occupy until he had promised not to betray us 
to the Union pickets. 

The next morning we were early on our way, reach¬ 
ing Wartrace in the midst of a pelting storm. At¬ 
tempting to pass directly through, our soldiers on 
guard were too vigilant for us, and we enjoyed another 
opportunity for “ diplomacy,” in the endeavor to repre¬ 
sent ourselves as innocent citizens from the adjoining 
country. But it was more difficult to deceive our own 
men than the enemy, and, to avoid detection, we were 
obliged to reveal our true character, which secured our 
immediate release. 

We plodded onward through the deep mud and 
splashing roads, and were now outside our own lines. 
Our only safety, from this time, lay in our disguise 
and in our false tongues. We felt not unlike the 
landsman who for the first time loses sight of the 
shore, and feels the heaving of the broad ocean under 
his feet. To the average Northern citizen a vague mys¬ 
tery and terror had rested over the whole of the Southern 


COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS. 


47 


States, even before the beginning of the war. During 
the existence of slavery no Northern man dared make 
his home in the presence of that institution and express 
any views unfavorable to it. Many tales of violence 
and blood were reported from that region long before 
hostilities began, and as the passions which led to the 
contest grew more fierce, the shadows still deepened. 
When war began the curtain fell, and only reports of 
wild and desperate enthusiasm in behalf of the cause 
of disunion and slavery, with stories of the most cruel 
oppression of the few who dared to differ with the 
ruling class in still loving the old flag, reached North¬ 
ern ears. No doubt there were many exaggerations, 
but there was a solid basis of fact. The South was 
swept with a revolutionary frenzy equal to any that 
history recalls, and the people were ready to sacrifice 
any one whose life seemed dangerous to their cause. 
Even exaggeration was potent as truth in aiding to in¬ 
vest the region beyond the Union lines with mysterious 
horror. Into this land of peril and fear and frequent 
outrage we were plunging as the secret but deadly en¬ 
emies of the whole people. Now, when Chattanooga 
and Atlanta are brought into such easy communication 
with Northern cities, it is difficult to recall the feelings 
with which they were regarded in the dark days of 
eighteen hundred and sixty-two. But hope and cour¬ 
age outweighed apprehension in our hearts, and we 
pushed rapidly forward. 

Others of our party were occasionally seen trudging 
along in the dreary rain, and sometimes we went with 
them a little way, but mostly we kept by ourselves. 
Shortly after noon we crossed Duck Diver, and en¬ 
tered Manchester, stopping just long enough to get the 
names of some of the prominent secessionists along our 
proposed route, that we might always have some one 
to inquire for, and be recommended from one influen¬ 
tial man to another. Nightfall this evening (Tuesday) 
found us still several miles from Hillsborough, and we 


48 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


began to fear that we would be behind time in reaching 
our destination. Each one was weary and stiff, but we 
resolved to make every effort, and, if necessary, travel 
a whole night rather than be too late. I have always 
been sorry that this night journey was not required 
of us. 

At the place where we lodged that night I first heard 
a slave-holder talk of hunting negroes with blood¬ 
hounds. In conversation after supper our host said to 
us, as a mere matter of news, “ I saw some persons 
dodging about the back of the plantation just as it was 
getting dark, and in the morning I will take the hounds 
and go out and hunt them up. I will be glad to have 
you go along and see the sport, if you can afford the 
time. If they prove to be negroes I will make some¬ 
thing.” 

“ What will you do with them?” I asked. 

“ Oh, turn them over to the authorities and get the 
reward,” was the answer. “ I have caught a consider¬ 
able number, and it pays to keep on the lookout.” 

Of course we had to agree outwardly; but the idea 
of hunting human beings with the ferocious-looking 
dogs we had seen about his door, and that for money, 
thrilled me with detestation and horror. Soon after¬ 
wards we found that blood-hounds were not kept for 
negroes alone. 

After a sound night’s rest we continued our journey, 
and were fortunate enough to find a man who was will¬ 
ing, for the good of the Confederacy, and for an ex¬ 
travagant price in money, to give us a short ride. The 
conveyance was an old wagon, with a wood-rack for a 
bed, four mules, with a scanty chain harness, ropes for 
bridles and lines, a driver black as ebony, who rode 
the lead mule, with a straw bag for a saddle, and flour¬ 
ished a fine black-snake whip,—the latter the only really 
good article in the whole “ turnout.” Seven or eight 
of our party were now together, and we rattled merrily 
over the stony road, holding on to the sides of the old 


COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS. 


49 


wood-rack, and agreeing that this was much better than 
walking. About the middle of the forenoon we came 
in sight of the Cumberland Mountains. It was now 
Wednesday, our second day outside of our own lines. 

Never have I beheld more beautiful scenery. For 
a short time the rain ceased to fall and the air became 
clear. The mountains shone in the freshest green, and 
about their tops clung a soft, shadowy mist, gradu¬ 
ally descending lower, and shrouding one after another 
of the spurs and high mountain valleys from view. 
But the beautiful scene did not long continue. Soon 
the mist deepened into cloud, and the interminable rain 
began again to fall. To add to our discontent, our 
wagon could go no farther, and we once more waded in 
the mud. 

At noon we found a dinner of the coarsest fare at a 
miserable one-roomed hut. One of our' men, not be¬ 
longing, however, to the squad I usually travelled with, 
managed to get possession of a bottle of apple-brandy, 
which he used so freely as to become very talkative. 
He was placed between two others, who kept him from 
all communication with strangers, and walked him 
rapidly on until he became sober. This was the only 
instance of such dangerous imprudence in the whole 
journey. 

From the personal narrative of Alfred D. Wilson, 
who was with us by this time, I will make frequent 
extracts, though by no means always indorsing his 
opinions as to military affairs, or the hopefulness of our 
enterprise. He was a man of great resolution and en¬ 
durance, though by no means of hopeful temper. He 
says,— 

“ Not till fairly away from the sight of the old dag and of our 
regiments, and entirely within the enemy’s line, could we begin 
to realize the great responsibility we had incurred. To begin 
with, we had cast aside our uniforms and put on citizen’s clothes, 
and assumed all the penalties that, in military usage, the word 
spy implies, which is death the world over. Again, our mission 
was such that concealment was impossible. We were sure to 
c d 5 


50 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


arouse the whole Confederacy and invoke the brutal vengeance 
of its frenzied leaders in case we did not make good our escape 
after doing our work. The military spy, in the ordinary.line of 
his duty, is not compelled to expose himself to detection. On 
the contrary, he conceals, in every possible way, his identity. 
This we could do until in the heart of the enemy’s country, the 
very place where we would be in the greatest danger.” 

Some of the groups fell into the natural error of 
overdoing their part, and by the very violence with 
which they denounced the United States government 
excited suspicion. One party of five or six made a 
narrow escape from this kind of danger. Their talk 
was too extravagant and their answers to some ques¬ 
tions somewhat contradictory. As none but citizens 
were then present, no objections were made to their 
statements; but a company of rebel guerillas was se¬ 
cretly summoned, and they were pursued. The guerillas 
arrived at a house where this party had passed the 
night but a few moments after they had resumed their 
journey in the morning. The pursuit was continued; 
but growing somewhat weary, and receiving more re¬ 
assuring accounts of the travellers ahead, the chase was 
abandoned, and our comrades escaped. 

Two others of our number were less fortunate. They 
became involved in the same manner, were followed, 
overtaken, and arrested. They told their Kentucky 
story in vain, but as they professed their willingness to 
enlist in the rebel army, that privilege was granted 
them. They were sent to the nearest post and duly 
sworn in. Not long afterwards they took the step that 
had been in their minds at the hour of enlistment by 
endeavoring to desert. One of them succeeded, but 
the other was arrested, and had to suffer a long and 
severe imprisonment. Finally, however, he was sent 
back to camp, and his next attempt at desertion was 
more successful. 

In conversation my own group was careful to take a 
very moderate though decided Southern tone. It was 
agreed that Wilson and myself should, as far as possible, 


COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS. 51 

do all the talking when in the presence of the enemy. On 
entering towns it was our custom to go directly to the 
street corners and the groceries, inquire for the latest 
news, tell our Kentucky story as often as it seemed 
necessary, deny some of the reports of Union outrages 
and confirm others, assuring the bystanders that the 
Yankees were not half so bad as reported, and espe¬ 
cially that they would fight, as otherwise they would 
never have conquered our great State of Kentucky, and 
then demand, in the name of the common cause of the 
South, direction and assistance on our way. We thus 
acquired much information, and were never once sus¬ 
pected. It is my deliberate opinion that we could have 
travelled from Richmond to New Orleans in the same 
manner at that period of the war. 

A little way out from our camp Dorsey met a man 
who seemed to be a Southern spy, and oh the strength 
of this suspicion was strongly tempted to shoot him to 
prevent the irreparable harm he might do us. A little 
watching, however, partly dispelled first impressions. 
The same man afterwards offered Wilson a liberal re¬ 
ward to pilot him over the mountains, and actually 
claimed to be a Confederate spy. Wilson kept with 
him for a time and watched him narrowly, but became 
convinced that he had not the least suspicion of our 
expedition. He allowed him, therefore, to go on his 
way in peace. It is possible that he was not what he 
pretended, any more than we ourselves were Kentucky 
citizens. This man was met once more in Chattanooga, 
but then disappeared. 

As we were mounting the first spurs of the Cumber¬ 
land Mountains we encountered a Confederate soldier 
from the East, who was then at home on a furlough. 
He had been in many battles, among them the battle 
of Bull Run, which he described minutely. Little did 
he think that I, too, had been there, as we laughed to¬ 
gether at the wild panic of the fugitive Yankees. He 
was greatly delighted to see so many Kentuckians 


52 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


coming out on the right side in the great struggle, and 
contrasted our conduct with that of some mean-spirited 
persons in his own neighborhood who were so foolish 
and depraved as to still sympathize with the abolition¬ 
ists. 

When we parted he grasped my hand with tears in 
his eyes, and said he hoped “ the time would soon come 
when we would be comrades, fighting side by side in 
one glorious cause!” My heart revolted from the hy¬ 
pocrisy I was compelled to use, but having begun there 
was no possibility of turning back. We clambered up 
the mountain till the top was reached; then across the 
level summit for six miles; then down again by an 
unfrequented road over steep rocks, yawning chasms, 
and great gullies cut out by recent rains. This rough 
jaunt led us down into Battle Creek, which is a pic¬ 
turesque valley opening out into the Tennessee, and 
hemmed in by projecting ranges of lofty mountains. 
As we descended the slopes, a countryman we had 
overtaken told me how the valley had obtained its 
name. The legend is verv romantic, and probably 
truthful. 

There was an Indian war between two neighboring 
tribes in early times. One of them made a plundering 
expedition into the territory of the other, and after se¬ 
curing their booty retreated homeward. They were 
promptly pursued, and traced to this valley. The pur¬ 
suers believed them to be concealed within its rocky 
limits, and to make their capture sure divided their 
force into two bands, each of which crept along the 
steep opposite sides towards the head of the valley. It 
was early in the morning, and as they worked their 
way cautiously along the mountain mist rolled down¬ 
ward as we had seen it do that morning, and enveloped 
each of the parties in its folds. Determined not to be 
foiled, they kept on, and meeting at the head of the 
valley, each supposed the other to be the foe. They 
poured in their fire, and a deadly conflict ensued. Not 


COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS. 


53 


till the greater number of their braves had fallen did 
the survivors discover their sad mistake; then they 
slowly and sorrowfully retreated to their wigwams. 
The plunderers, who had listened to their conflict in 
safety, being higher up the mountain, were left to bear 
off their booty in triumph. 

But we had little leisure for legendary tales. We 
rested for the night with a wealthy secessionist, whom 
our soldier friend on the mountains had designated as 
“ the right kind of a man.” He received us with open 
arms, and shared the best his house afforded. We 
spent the evening in denouncing the policy of the Fed¬ 
eral government and in exchanging views as to the 
prospects of the war. Among other topics I happened 
to mention an expatriation law which, as I had learned 
from a newspaper paragraph, had beeq passed by the 
Kentucky Legislature a few weeks before. This law 
only made the reasonable provision that all persons 
going South to join the rebel army should lose their 
rights of State citizenship. The old man thought this 
to be an act of unparalleled oppression; and in the 
morning, before we were out of bed, he came into our 
room and requested some of us to write down that in¬ 
famous law that he might be able to give his Union 
neighbors a convincing proof of Yankee wickedness! 
We complied, and all signed our names as witnesses. 
No doubt that document was long the theme of angry 
discussion in many a mountain cabin. 

So thoroughly did we maintain our assumed character 
in this instance, that three days after, when the culmi¬ 
nation of our enterprise came to the Confederates like 
a clap of thunder out of a clear sky, it was impossible 
to make our host believe that his guests were among 
the adventurers. This we learned from a Union man 
to whom he had shown a copy of the terrible expatria¬ 
tion law! 

We were still more than forty miles distant from 
Chattanooga on this Wednesday evening, and were due 
5 * 


54 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


at that place by five o’clock the next day. On each of 
the two preceding days we had measured about thirty 
miles,—a good rate of speed, but not sufficient. We 
had formed the resolution of taking a night journey of 
ten or fifteen miles, but before starting after supper, 
another squad arrived and managed to tell us that they 
had seen Andrews and been informed that the grand 
enterprise was postponed one day. This was a great 
relief, for it was hard to tear away from our comfort¬ 
able quarters; but this delay was a serious mistake. In 
all combined movements in war, time is of prime im¬ 
portance. On the appointed Friday success would have 
been easy; on Saturday—but we must not anticipate. 

Andrews had also caused the advice to be passed 
along the line that it would be better to attempt to cross 
the Tennessee at some point far west of Chattanooga, 
and taking passage on the Memphis and Charleston 
Railroad, than to try to pass through Chattanooga by 
rail. He had heard of stringent orders being issued 
against any one crossing the river near this town with¬ 
out a pass. Farther down the stream these orders 
might not apply, or, in case of necessity, a raft might 
be constructed among the wooded mountains, and a 
passage obtained by that means. 

About noon of the next day we came to Jasper, and 
spent a short time in the principal grocery of the place 
talking over the state of the country. We informed 
the idlers that there would soon be a mighty uprising 
of Kentuckians in favor of the Southern cause, but 
professed ignorance of the movements of Mitchel’s 
army. In return we received the first vague reports 
of the battle of Pittsburg Landing. It was the im¬ 
pression that the Union army was totally destroyed, 
thousands of men being slain, and innumerable cannon 
captured. One countryman assured me that five hun¬ 
dred Yankee gunboats had been sunk ! I ventured to 
suggest a doubt as to the Yankees having so many, but 
was not able to shake his faith. 


COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS. 


55 


The same night we reached the banks of the Ten¬ 
nessee, directly south of Jasper, and lodged at the 
house of a Mrs. Hall. A flat-boat owned by one of 
the neighbors was used as a ferry-boat, and arrange¬ 
ments were made for setting us on the other side of the 
stream early in the morning. The evening spent here 
was very enjoyable. Others of our party came in, and 
among them Andrews himself. After a good supper, 
we were all assigned to the best room, which had a 
roaring wood-fire in an open chimney, and two large 
beds in the corners. We met without any outward 
sign of recognition, but rapidly became acquainted. 
Each acted according to his own nature. The bounti¬ 
ful supper and the cheerful fire greatly refreshed us 
after the labor of the day. My companion, Shadrach, 
was soon acknowledged as the wit of the party, and 
received perpetual applause for his mirthful sallies. 
Andrews was silent, but appeared to greatly enjoy the 
fun. Dorsey, who had great forethought and prudence, 
and had decided that it was good policy, even among his 
comrades, to appear as ignorant as possible, felt highly 
complimented when told that his group had been de¬ 
scribed to some of the others who followed as “ a party 
of country Jakes.” Wilson gave us all the information 
wanted on every possible subject. Songs were sung, 
stories were told, and as the family formed part of the 
fireside company, many of the incidents may not have 
been quite authentic. Late at night this social even¬ 
ing’s entertainment closed. It was the more highly 
appreciated as it was the first opportunity most of us 
had enjoyed of becoming acquainted with our leader 
and with each other. 

In the morning Andrews started up the river on 
horseback. The flat-boat was bailed out, and we were 
just entering it, when a mounted man appeared and 
handed the ferryman an order forbidding him to allow 
any one to cross the river at his ferry for three days. 
We tried to get an exception made in our favor, as we 


56 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


had contracted with him the evening before, but he 
was unwilling to assume the risk. The messenger 
gave us the reason for the order, and a most interesting 
piece of news it was. General Mitchel was moving 
rapidly southward for some unknown object, and it was 
desirable on that account to stop all intercourse with the 
country beyond the river. The messenger volunteered 
the comforting assurance that “ these brave Kentuckians 
will no doubt find a warm welcome at Chattanooga,” 
and gave us the best directions in his power for reach¬ 
ing that point. We concealed our disappointment, and 
as soon as we were alone debated as to the best course 
to be taken. Two alternatives only were open. One 
was to build or seize a raft or boat and cross in defiance 
of the order. This was easy enough in the night, but 
in daytime it would be very hazardous, and that day, 
until five o’clock in the afternoon, was the only time at 
our disposal. We therefore took the only remaining 
course, and dispersing, hurried over the mountains to¬ 
wards Chattanooga. 

Our journey was far from pleasant, as the rocky 
mountain-spurs here sweep directly down to the bank 
of this very crooked river. Several times we lost our 
way in the entanglements of the woods, but at lengt 1 
reached a valley that ran down to the Tennessee directly 
opposite Chattanooga. The road was now more fre¬ 
quented, and we talked freely with travellers, for all 
fear of being detected by those we chanced to meet 
had long since been dissipated. 

One countryman related a very interesting item of 
news from the war in the East. It was to the effect 
that the Confederate iron-clad “ Merrimac” had one 
day steamed out into the harbor of Fortress Monroe, 
and after engaging the Union “ Monitor” for some 
hours, with no decisive result, had run alongside of her 
opponent, and throwing grappling-irons on board, had 
towed her ashore, where she, of course, fell an easy 
prey. This may serve as a specimen of the kind of 


COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS. 57 

news we perpetually heard while in the Confederate 
States. 

Quite a number of persons—many of them of our 
own party—were waiting on the banks of the Tennes¬ 
see Rivei\ The assemblage of so many of us on that 
side of the river was very unfortunate, as it materially 
increased the risk of discovery; but a very high wind 
was blowing, and the ferryman feared to risk his little 
shackly “ horse-boat” on the turbulent stream. Our 
time was nearly exhausted, and we could not afford to 
wait very long. We urged the boatman very strenu¬ 
ously to set us over at once, but he wished to delay 
until the wind fell. Nothing as yet had been said to 
us about passes, but this was explained mentally by the 
conjecture that there was a guard on the other side, 
whose inspection we would be obliged to pass,—a more 
formidable ordeal than we had yet encountered. When 
requests for a speedy passage failed to move the ferry¬ 
man, we changed our tactics, and talked in his hearing 
of the cowardice of Tennessee boatmen as contrasted 
with Kentuckians, or even the Ohio Yankees. When 
twelve or sixteen men deliberately attempt to make one 
man angry, they can generally succeed. The boatman 
soon tired of our raillery, and, entering his boat, told 
us to come on and show what we could do by lending 
him a hand, adding that he would put us over or drown 
us, he did not care much which. The invitation was 
promptly accepted, and by pushing with poles and 
pulling oh the limbs of overhanging trees we moved 
up the stream to a point judged most favorable, and 
swung out into the waves. The ride was short and 
not without danger, but the peril on the other side 
was so much greater that we had little thought to give 
to the passage. “ How should we meet and deceive 
the guard ?” This was the important question. Our 
surprise was almost equal to our delight when we 
landed and found no one to bar our progress. The ex¬ 
planation was perfectly simple. The guard had not 


58 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


been placed that afternoon because it was not believed 
that any one would attempt to cross in the storm. 
Wondering at our good fortune, we hurried to the cars, 
and were in time to procure tickets for Marietta before 
the departure of the train, which was crowded with 
passengers, many of them Confederate soldiers. In 
such a crowd it was easy to avoid notice. 

Every seat in the cars was filled, and we had to be 
contented with standing room. The fumes of whiskey 
and tobacco were very strong. Talking was loud and 
incessant, and turned mostly upon the great battle of 
Shiloh, the accounts of which were by no means so ex¬ 
travagant as at first, though a great victory was still 
claimed. We took part in the conversation freely, 
judging this to be the best way of maintaining our as¬ 
sumed disguise. No general system of passports had 
been brought into use, at least in this part of the South, 
and railway travel was entirely unrestricted. 

The sun was about an hour high when we glided out 
of the depot, and it soon sank to rest behind the hills 
of Georgia. The time for our perilous attempt drew 
near. There was some diversity of opinion among the 
members of the party, as revealed by conversations 
both before and after, as to the prospects of success. 
The most of us felt some solicitude, but were far more 
hopeful than when we left camp. So many incidents 
had occurred substantially as they had been planned, 
that trust in the foresight of o'ur leader, with the assur¬ 
ance that all would come out right, was greatly strength¬ 
ened. The first feeling of strangeness which followed 
our plunge into the enemy’s country had given way to 
confidence in the impenetrability of our mental disguise. 
For my own part I scarcely felt a doubt of success. It 
seemed to me that a dozen modes of escape were open 
in the improbable event of failure. I saw the dangers 
surrounding us clearly, but none of them now appeared 
more formidable than when I first asked Colonel Harris 
the privilege of joining the expedition. There were 















COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS. 


59 


many bridges on the road we passed over, and we could 
not help picturing our return on the morrow and the 
vengeance we proposed wreaking on them. Darkness 
closed in, and on we went amid the oaths and laughter 
of the rebels, many of whom were very much intoxi¬ 
cated. I procured a seat on the coal-box and gave my¬ 
self up to the thoughts suggested by the hour. There 
was now no need of trying to keep up conversation with 
those around. Visions of former days and friends— 
dear friends, both around the camp-fires and the hearths 
of home, whom I might never see again—floated before 
me. I also heard much talk of the merits of different 
States and regiments in the contest, and many discus¬ 
sions of the conscript law, which was just now coming 
into force. The opinion of the greater number of the 
soldiers seemed to be that while the provisions of the 
law were right in compelling all to take a part in the 
burdens of the conflict, yet that it would be of but little 
service, as the unwilling soldiers, who were thus forced 
into the ranks, would be no match for volunteers. 
Little did they imagine that in this terrible law their 
rulers had found a weapon which would enable them 
to repulse the Northern armies at every point, and pro¬ 
tract the war for three years longer! 

At this time the Union cause seemed most hopeful. 
All appearances indicated a speedy termination of the 
war and a complete re-establishment of the old govern¬ 
ment. Few great battles had taken place, but the pre¬ 
ponderance of fortune as well as force seemed everywhere 
on the loyal side. In the West, our armies had during 
the last three months penetrated almost half-way to the 
Gulf; McClellan was preparing to move with over¬ 
whelming force towards Richmond; Burnside was deal¬ 
ing hard blows on the North Carolina coast; the force 
which captured New Orleans was already on the way; 
and at no point were the rebel forces a fair match for 
their opponents. Volunteering had almost stopped in the 
South, while recruits were pouring as a steady stream 


60 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


into the Northern armies, and continued to do so for a 
year longer. A rebellion almost isolated and placed 
everywhere on the defensive could not hope for long 
life unless new resources were discovered. The rebel 
leaders well knew this, and therefore passed the con¬ 
scription law. 

It is scarcely an exaggeration to say that there were 
two wars waged between the North and the South. The 
first was between the two people by means of volun¬ 
teers, and the second between the two governments. 
For the first year the soldiers fought on both sides with 
scarcely a thought of pay or bounty, and without a hint 
of compulsion. But the South had reached the end of 
this period, and her volunteers were beaten and ex¬ 
hausted. This was not from any want of bravery on 
their part, but because of inferior numbers, and be¬ 
cause, having less at stake than the volunteers of the 
North, they could less willingly support adverse for¬ 
tune. Now the new law was enacted at the South 
which put all the able-bodied population at the service 
of the State. The advantages were immediate and 
obvious. All the volunteers who had enlisted for a 
limited time were retained. The depleted organiza¬ 
tions were filled up to their full strength, instead of 
waiting for the recruiting of new regiments, and the 
conscripts thus became, in a few days, the equals of 
old soldiers. The second year of the war, in which the 
Northern volunteers fought the whole force the Southern 
States could bring into the field, was, on the whole, the 
most unfavorable of any period to the loyal arms. It 
became clear that the supremacy of the Union could 
not be restored unless the same potent weapon could be 
employed on her behalf. From the hour that the possi¬ 
bility of this was demonstrated, and a draft success¬ 
fully enforced by the Union government, the issue was 
virtually decided. Despair might protract the contest, 
but the utter exhaustion of Southern resources was only 
a question of time. Was it necessary to permit the war 


COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS. 


61 


to pass from the first into the second stage ? Might 
not the victory of the Union volunteers have been 
pushed so rapidly as to have prevented the South from 
enforcing the conscription law over any considerable 
portion of her territory, and thus have ended the con¬ 
test at once ? These were questions of tremendous im¬ 
portance, which could only be answered in the months 
of April and May, 1862. Then was a golden oppor¬ 
tunity which once lost could only be regained by years 
of desperate fighting. A half-dozen great victories in 
midsummer would be of less real value than a vigor¬ 
ous advance in the spring, which should at once dis¬ 
courage the enemy, while at the lowest point of his 
fortunes, and prevent the recruiting of his armies by 
conscription. It has often been said that the North did 
not win any decisive advantage until the abolition of 
slavery. This is true, but it does not in the least con¬ 
tradict the view just advanced. That great measure 
committed the North absolutely to the conquest of the 
South, and thus led to exertions adequate to the end 
sought. Yet we must conclude, reasoning from a mili¬ 
tary point of view only, that if the same exertions had 
been put forth earlier, they would have been even more 
speedily effective. 

These considerations, which were but dimly, if at 
all, realized as we glided along in the darkness through 
the heart of the rebel country, will render more intelli 
gible the vast importance attributed by competent mili¬ 
tary authorities to the expedition in which we were 
engaged. If we burned the bridges on the morrow, 
General Mitchel would certainly capture Chattanooga 
within three or four days, and spread his power over 
East Tennessee and all the adjoining loyal districts. 
The people of this section, now thoroughly alarmed and 
enraged by the conscription, would enlist under his 
banner by tens of thousands. Seven regiments had 
already been formed by East Tennesseeans, who, under 
circumstances of the greatest difficulty, had run away 


62 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


into Kentucky. The communications of the Eastern 
and the Western rebel armies would be cut; and to de¬ 
stroy those armies in detail would only require the 
vigorous advance of the forces already opposed to 
them. This was a brilliant prospect to set before an 
expedition composed of only twenty-four men; but 
there is in it nothing beyond the realm of probability, 
and as I thought of the mere possibility of such 
achievements I felt that we might afford to despise all 
personal danger. To deliver a territory occupied by 
nearly a million citizens from conscription; to place an 
army in the most important strategical position in the 
rebel territory, for such Chattanooga was; to give the 
command of the great continental system of railways 
into the hands of our own troops, and to paralyze the 
plans of the enemy; these were, indeed, almost incred¬ 
ible results to flow from such a cause; but we believed 
then that such would be the meaning of our success. 
The reader who will study attentively the military 
situation as it was in 1862, with the railroads then 
existing, and add the fact that the Southern armies 
were then depleted to the lowest point reached during 
tho struggle, will not be disposed to smile at such possi¬ 
bilities. It is certain that in the first hour of panic, 
caused by our attempt, the Confederates themselves ac¬ 
knowledged, not in words only, but in the most signifi¬ 
cant actions, the deadly peril to which they had been 
exposed. 

With such thoughts the hours passed not unpleas¬ 
antly. I noticed that we were making very slow time, 
and afterwards learned that this was general on South¬ 
ern roads. The absorption in warlike affairs and the 
scarcity of iron and all other material, as well as of 
money, had caused the managers of the railroads to let 
them fall into bad repair, and this necessitated a low 
rate of speed. The fastest train on this road did not 
get beyond eighteen miles an hour. This was a de¬ 
cidedly unfavorable element in the problem we were to 


COMPANIONS AND INCIDENTS. 


63 


solve. Some of the adventurers were even less favor¬ 
ably impressed with our prospects than I was. The 
immense business of the road, which had become one 
of the most important in the whole South, rendered the 
running of a train when we captured it much more 
difficult. We saw many freight trains lying at the 
stations, and everything indicated that the capacity of 
this line of rail was being pressed to the utmost. Ser¬ 
geant Ross and Alfred Wilson took the most gloomy 
view of our prospects of success, and even sought an 
opportunity, soon after, to dissuade Andrews from 
going any further in it. The latter thus explains his 
own feelings,— 

“ After getting seated, and there being no further cause of con¬ 
cern for the time being, I began to carefully study over the situ¬ 
ation with all the thought I could, and to calculate our chances 
of success or failure. The result of my deliberations was by no 
means encouraging... We were one day behind the time ap¬ 
pointed. I knew, too, or felt sure, that G-eneral Mitchel would 
not fail to march upon and take Huntsville, according to the ar¬ 
rangement made when we started. I also felt that if he did so 
there would be little room to hope for our success. It would 
cause the roads to be crowded with trains flying from danger, 
and it would be difficult to pass them all in safety. But it was 
too late now to change the programme. We must make the 
effort, come what might. I said nothing, however, to any one 
but Andrews ; but on listening to my opinion on the situation, 
he encouraged me by saying there was yet a good chance to suc¬ 
ceed. Indeed, he expressed himself in so sanguine a manner that 
I made no further argument; but I still thought my course of 
reasoning correct, whether the event should accord with it or not.” 

From the soldiers and others in the train we received 
a rumor which was full of startling interest to us,— 
nothing less than the reported capture of Huntsville 
by General Mitchel. Much incredulity was expressed, 
and details were wanting. His force was reported at 
twenty-five or thirty thousand men,—an extravagant 
but not unnatural over-estimate. We had no doubt of 
the truth of the report, though it would have better 
suited us if he also had been detained for one day, or 
even more. 


64 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


It was near nine o’clock when the train reached the 
supper station. After all our fatigue we were well 
prepared to do justice to the bountiful meal that was 
spread. But there was such a rush for the table that 
several of our party were unable to get near it, and had 
therefore to continue their fast. The writer was more 
fortunate. BufFum, who was crowded back on account 
of his small size, managed to stoop down and slip up 
under the arm of a rebel officer just as the latter was 
rising from the table, and thus took his place while a 
half-dozen hungry travellers rushed for it. There 
was some laughing, and BufFum was applauded for his 
“ Yankee trick,” more than he would have been had 
it been known that he was actually a native of Massa¬ 
chusetts, and then engaged in the Federal service. 

The train rushed on after we left the supper station, 
and as I had managed to get a good meal and also a 
comfortable seat in the changing, all reflections and 
dangers were soon forgotten in a sound sleep, from 
which I only awakened when the conductor shouted 
“ Marietta!” It was then almost midnight, and the 
goal was reached. This was, for the present, the utmost 
boundary of our journey. We were now in the centre 
of the Confederacy, and before we departed had a blow 
to strike that would either make all rebeldom vibrate 
from centre to circumference or leave us at the mercy 
of the merciless. But the first thing to be done was 
to snatch a short repose preparatory to the hard work 
of the morrow. 


A LOCOMOTIVE AND TRAIN CAPTURED . 05 


CHAPTER IV. 

A LOCOMOTIVE AND TRAIN CAPTURED. 

The greater number of us arranged to pass the night 
at a small hotel adjoining the Marietta depot. Before 
retiring we left orders with the hotel clerk to rouse us 
in time for the northward bound train, due not long 
after daylight. Notwithstanding our novel situation, I 
never slept more soundly. Good health, extreme fa¬ 
tigue, and the feeling that the die was now cast and 
further thought useless, made me sink into slumber 
almost as soon as I touched the bed. Others equally 
brave and determined were affected in a different way. 
Alfred Wilson says,— 

“No man knows what a day may bring forth, and the very 
uncertainty of what that day’s sun would bring forth in our par¬ 
ticular cases was the reason that some of us, myself at least of the 
number, did not sleep very much. Our doom might be fixed 
before the setting of another sun. We might be hanging to the 
limbs of some of the trees along the railroad, with an enraged 
populace jeering and shouting vengeance because we had no more 
iives to give up ; or we might leave a trail of fire and destruction 
behind us, and come triumphantly rolling into Chattanooga and 
Huntsville, within the Federal lines, to receive the welcome 
plaudits of comrades left behind, and the thanks of our general, 
and the praises of a grateful people. Such thoughts as these 
passed in swift review, and were not calculated to make one sleep 
soundly.’’ 

As the hotel was much crowded, we obtained a few 
rooms in close proximity, and crowded them to their 
utmost capacity. Andrews noted our rooms before re¬ 
tiring, that he might, if necessary, seek any one of us 
out for consultation before we rose. Porter and Haw¬ 
kins were unfortunately overlooked; they had arrived 
on an earlier train and obtained lodging at some distance 

e 6* 


66 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


from the depot. The clerk failed to have them called 
in time for the morning train, as they had ordered, and, 
greatly to their regret and chagrin, they were left be¬ 
hind. This was a serious loss, as they were both cool, 
brave men, and Hawkins was the most experienced 
railway engineer of our company. W. F. Brown, who 
took his place in this work, was, however, fully com¬ 
petent, though possibly somewhat less cautious. 

Long before the train was due, Andrews, who had 
slept little, if at all, that night, glided from room to 
room silently as a ghost, the doors being purposely 
left unfastened, and aroused the slumberers. It seemed 
to some of us scarcely a moment from the time of re¬ 
tiring until he came thus to the bedside of each sleeper 
in turn, and cautiously wakening him, asked his name, 
to prevent the possibility of mistake, and then told each 
one exactly the part he was expected to take in the en¬ 
terprise of the day. There was hasty dressing, and 
afterwards an informal meeting held in Andrews’ 
room, at which nearly one-half of the whole number 
were present, and plans were more fully discussed. 
Then Marion A. Boss, one of the most determined of 
the whole number, took the bold step of advising and 
even urging the abandonment, for the present, of the 
whole enterprise. He reasoned with great force that 
under present circumstances, with the rebel vigilance 
fully aroused by Mitchel’s rapid advance, with guards 
stationed around the train we were to capture, as we 
had learned would be the case at Big Shanty, and with 
the road itself obstructed by numerous trains, the en¬ 
terprise was sure to fail, and would cost the life of every 
man engaged in it. Andrews very gently answered 
his arguments and strove to show that the objections 
urged really weighed in favor of the original plan. 
No such attempt as we purposed had ever been made, 
and consequently would not be guarded against; the 
presence of a line of sentinels and of so many troops 
at Big Shanty would only tend to relax vigilance still 


A LOCOMOTIVE AND TRAIN CAPTURED . (37 


farther; and the great amount of business done on the 
road, with the running of many unscheduled trains, 
would screen us from too close inquiry when we ran 
our train ahead of time. This reasoning was not alto¬ 
gether satisfactory, and some of the others joined Ross 
in a respectful but firm protest against persisting in such 
a hopeless undertaking. But Andrews, speaking very 
low, as was his wont when thoroughly in earnest, de¬ 
clared that he had once before postponed the attempt, 
and returned to camp disgraced. “Now,” he con¬ 
tinued, “ I will accomplish my purpose or leave my 
bones to bleach in Dixie. But I do not wish to con¬ 
trol any one against his own judgment. If any of you 
think it too hazardous, you are perfectly at liberty to 
take the train in the opposite direction and work your 
way back to camp as you can.” 

This inflexible determination closed the discussion, 
and as no man was willing to desert his leader, we all 
assured him of our willingness to obey his orders to 
the death. I had taken no part in the discussion, as 
I was not in possession of sufficient facts to judge of 
the chance of success, and I wished the responsibility 
to rest upon the leader, where it properly belonged. 

The train was now nearly due, and we proceeded to 
the station for the purchase of tickets. By the time 
they had been procured—not all for one place, as we 
wished to lessen the risk of suspicion—the train swept 
up to the platform. Hastily glancing at it in the early 
morning light, and seeing only that it was very long 
and apparently well filled, the twenty adventurers en¬ 
tered by different doors, but finally took their places in 
one car. 

From Marietta to Big Shanty the railroad sweeps in 
a long bend of eight miles around the foot of Kenesaw 
Mountain, which lies directly between the two stations. 
This elevation is now scarred all over with rebel in- 
trenchments, and was the scene of one of the severest 
contests of the war. This, however, as well as the 


68 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


whole of the three months’ struggle from Chattanooga 
to Atlanta, came a year and a half later. At this time 
the nearest Federal soldiers were more than two hun¬ 
dred miles away. 

When the train moved on and the conductor came to 
take our tickets we observed him carefully, as we knew 
not how closely his fate and ours might be linked to¬ 
gether in the approaching struggle. The most vivid an¬ 
ticipation fell far short of the reality. Upon the quali¬ 
ties of that one man our success or failure hinged. He 
was quite young—not more than twenty-three or four, 
—and looked like a man of resolution and energy. We 
noticed that he was also scrutinizing us and the other 
passengers very closely, and naturally feared that he 
had in some manner been put on his guard. In fact, 
as we learned long afterwards, he had been warned that 
some of the new conscripts who were reluctant to fight 
for the Confederacy were contemplating an escape, and 
might try to get a ride on the cars. His orders were 
to watch for all such and arrest them at once. But he 
did not think that any of the men who got on at Mari¬ 
etta looked in the least like conscripts or deserters. 

The train ran slowly, stopping at several intervening 
points, and did not reach Big Shanty until it was fully 
daylight. This station had been selected for the seiz¬ 
ure, because the train breakfasted there, and it was 
probable that many of the employes and passengers 
would leave it for their meal, thus diminishing the op¬ 
position we might expect. Another most important 
reason for the selection was the absence of any tele¬ 
graph office. But, on the other hand, Camp McDonald 
had been lately located here, and a large body of sol¬ 
diers—some accounts said as many as ten thousand 
men—were already assembled. Their camp included 
the station within the guard-line. When Andrews and 
the first party had been at Atlanta, three weeks earlier, 
few troops had yet arrrived at this point. The capture 
of a train in the midst of a camp of the enemy was 


I 


A LOCOMOTIVE AND TRAIN CAPTURED. 69 

not a part of the original plan, but subsequently be¬ 
came necessary. It was certainly a great additional 
element of danger, but it was not now possible to sub¬ 
stitute any other point. 

The decisive hour had arrived. It is scarcely boast¬ 
ful to say that the annals of history record few enter¬ 
prises more bold and novel than that witnessed by the 
rising sun of Saturday morning, April 12, 1862. Here 
was a train, with several hundred passengers, with a full 
complement of hands, lying inside a line of sentinels, 
who were distinctly seen pacing back and forth in close 
proximity, to be seized by a mere score of men, and to 
be carried away before the track could be obstructed, or 
the intruding engineer shot down at his post. Only the 
most careful calculation and prompt execution, concen¬ 
trating the power of the whole band into a single light¬ 
ning-like stroke, could afford the slightest prospect of 
success. In the bedroom conference every action was 
predetermined with the nicest accuracy. Our engineer 
and his assistant knew the signal at which to start; the 
brakesmen had their work assigned; the man who was 
to uncouple the cars knew just the place at which to 
make the separation; the remainder of the number 
constituted a guard, in two divisions, who were to stand 
with ready revolvers abreast of the cars to be seized, 
and shoot down without hesitation any one who at¬ 
tempted to interfere with the work. Andrews was to 
command the whole, and do any part of the work not 
otherwise provided for. Should there be any unexpected 
hindrance, we were to fight until we either overcame 
all opposition and captured the train or perished in a 
body. If we failed to carry off our prize we were in¬ 
evitably lost; if any man failed to be on board when 
the signal was given, his fate also was sealed. A delay 
of thirty seconds after our designs became clearly known 
would have resulted in the slaughter of the whole 
party. 

When our train rolled up to the platform the usual 


70 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


announcement was shouted, “ Big Shanty; twenty 
minutes for breakfast Most fortunately for us, the 
conductor, engineer, firemen, and train-hands generally, 
with many of the passengers, poured out, and hurried to 
the long, low eating-room which gave its name to the 
station. The engine was utterly unguarded. This un¬ 
common carelessness was the result of perfect security, 
and greatly favored our design. Yet it was a thrilling 
moment! Victory or death hung on the next minute ! 
There was no chance for drawing back, and I do not 
think any of us had the disposition. A little while 
before, a sense of shrinking came over the writer like 
that preceding a plunge into ice-water; but with the 
next breath it passed away, and left me as calm and 
quiet as if no enemy had been within a hundred miles. 
Still, for a moment, we kept our seats. Andrews went 
forward to examine the track and see if there was any 
hindrance to a rapid rush ahead. Almost immediately 
he returned, and said, very quietly, “ All right, boys; 
let us go now.” There was nothing in this to attract 
special observation ; but whether it did or not was now 
a matter of indifference. The time of concealment was 
past. We rose, left the cars, and walked briskly to the 
head of the train. With the precision of machinery, 
every man took his appointed place. Three cars back 
from the tender the coupling-pin was drawn out, as the 
load of passenger-cars would only have been an in¬ 
cumbrance. Wilson W. Brown, who acted as engineer, 
William Knight as assistant, Alfred Wilson as fire¬ 
man, together with Andrews, mounted the engine, 
Knight grasping the lever, and waiting the word for 
starting. The appointed brakesmen threw themselves 
flat on the top of the cars. At a signal from Andrews, 
the remainder of the band, who had kept watch, climbed 
with surprising quickness into a box-car which stood 
open. All was well! Knight, at Andrews’ orders, 
jerked open the steam-valve, and we were off! Before 
the camp-guards or the bystanders could do more than 


CAPTURE OF A TRAIN. 












































































































































































































































































































































































































































A LOCOMOTIVE AND TRAIN CAPTURED. 71 


turn a curious eye upon our proceedings, the train was 
under way, and we were safe from interruption. 

The writer was stationed in the box-car, and as soon 
as all were in, we pulled the door shut to guard against 
any stray musket-balls. For a moment of most in¬ 
tense suspense after we were thus shut in all was still. 
In that moment a thousand conflicting thoughts swept 
through our minds. Then came a pull, ajar, a clang, 
and we were flying away on our perilous journey. 
Those who were on the engine caught a glimpse of 
the excited crowd, soldiers and citizens, swarming and 
running about in the wildest confusion. It has been 
said that a number of shots were fired after us, but 
those in the box-car knew nothing of it, and it is cer¬ 
tain that no one was injured. A widely-circulated 
picture represented us as waving our hats and shouting 
in triumph. Nothing so melodramatic took place. The 
moment was too deep and earnest, and we had too 
many perils still to encounter for any such childish 
demonstration. 

Yet it was a grand triumph, and having nothing 
of a more practical character for the moment to do, I 
realized it to the fullest extent. There are times in 
life when whole years of enjoyment are condensed into 
a single experience. It was so with me then. I could 
comprehend the emotion of Columbus when he first 
beheld through the dim dawn the long-dreamed-of 
shores of America, or the less innocent but no less 
fervent joy of Cortez when he planted the Cross of 
Spain on the halls of Montezuma. My breast throbbed 
fast with emotions of joy and gladness that words 
labor in vain to express. A sense of ethereal lightness 
ran through my veins, and I seemed ascending higher, 
higher, with each pulsation of the engine. Remember, 
I was but twenty-two then, full of hope and ambition. 
Not a dream of failure shadowed my rapture. We 
had always been told that the greatest difficulty was to 
reach and take possession of the engine, after which 


72 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


success was certain. But for unforeseen contingencies 
it would have been. 

Away we rush, scouring past field and village and 
woodland. At each leap of the engine our hearts rose 
higher, and we talked merrily of the welcome that 
would greet us when we dashed into Huntsville a few 
hours later, our enterprise done, and the brightest laurels 
of the war eclipsed ! 

We found the railroad, however, to be of the roughest 
and most difficult character. The grades were very 
heavy and the curves numerous and sharp. We 
seemed to be running towards every point of the com¬ 
pass. The deep valleys and steep hills of this part of 
the country had rendered the building of the road dif¬ 
ficult and costly. There were numerous high embank¬ 
ments where an accident would be of deadly character. 
The track was also uneven and in generally bad con¬ 
dition, for the war had rendered railroad iron scarce 
and high-priced, besides diverting all attention and re¬ 
sources into other channels. This unfavorable char¬ 
acter of the road very greatly increased the difficulty 
experienced by an engineer unfamiliar with the route 
in making rapid time, or in avoiding the varied diffi¬ 
culties incident to our progress. But we trusted im¬ 
plicitly that the far-sighted plans of Andrews, the skill 
of our engineers, and our own willing efforts would 
overcome all hindrances. 

Our first run was short. There was a sudden check¬ 
ing of speed and a halt. When those of us who were in 
the box-car pushed open our door and asked the reason 
for stopping so soon, we were told that the fire was low 
and the steam exhausted. This was startling intelli¬ 
gence, and caused a moment of consternation. If our 
“ General”—the name of the locomotive we had cap¬ 
tured—failed us at the beginning of the race, we too 
well knew what the end would be. For hundreds of 
miles on every side of us were desperate and daring 
foes. A hundred times our number of horse and foot 


A LOCOMOTIVE AND TRAIN CAPTURED. 73 

could be gathered against us in a few hours. The most 
timid bird pursued by hounds feels safe, for ifs wings 
can bear it above their jaws. But if those wings should 
be broken! This engine gave us wings; but if it 
should be disabled no valor of ours could beat back 
the hosts about us, no skill elude their rage. But we 
found a less threatening explanation of our premature 
halt. The schedule time of our train was very slow,— 
only about sixteen miles an hour,—and the fires had been 
allowed to run down because of the expected stop of 
twenty minutes for breakfast at Big Shanty,—a stop 
that we had reduced to less than two minutes. Then 
the valve being thrown wide open, the little steam in 
the boiler was soon exhausted. But this difficulty was 
of short duration. A rest of three minutes, with plenty 
of wood thrown into the furnace, wrought a change, 
and we again glided rapidly forward. 

But when viewed soberly, and in the light of all the 
facts since developed, what were the chances of success 
and escape possessed by the flying party? Was the 
whole attempt, as has been frequently asserted, rash and 
foolhardy ? Or had it that character of practicability 
which is ever the stamp of true genius? Historical 
accuracy, as well as justice to the memory of a brave 
but unfortunate man, compels me to pronounce the 
scheme almost faultless. In this estimate I have the 
full concurrence of all who were engaged on the oppo¬ 
site side. It is hard to see how the plan could have 
been improved without allowing its projector to have 
had a knowledge of the precise condition of the enemy 
such as no commander at the beginning of an important 
enterprise ever has. No one of the plans by which 
Generals Grant and Sherman finally overthrew the 
Rebellion presented a clearer prospect of success. 

These are the elements of the problem upon which 
Andrews based his hopes. Big Shanty is twenty-eight 
miles north of Atlanta and thirty-two south of Kings¬ 
ton. Short of these places he was convinced that no 
d 7 


74 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


engine could be obtained for pursuit. He could ob¬ 
struct tlTe road so that no train would reach Big Shanty 
for hours. Pinch-bars and other instruments for lift¬ 
ing track might be found on the captured engine, or 
obtained from some station or working-party. His 
force of twenty men was counted ample to overcome 
resistance at any switch or passing train. One irregular 
train only was expected to be on the road, and that 
would soon be met,—certainly at Kingston or before,— 
after which it would be safe to run at the highest speed 
to the first bridge, burn it, and pass on to the next, 
which, with all other large bridges, could be served in 
the same manner. Each bridge burnt would be an in¬ 
superable barrier to pursuit by an engine beyond that 
point. Thus every part of the scheme was fair and 
promising. Only those critics who are wise after the 
event can pronounce the attempt rash and hopeless. 
The destruction of the telegraph would also be neces¬ 
sary ; but this was not difficult. It seemed as if every 
contingency was provided for, and then there was the 
additional fighting power of twenty chosen men to 
guard against any possible emergency. We were now 
embarked on this most perilous but hopeful voyage. 
Coolness, precision of work, and calm effort could 
scarcely fail to sever the chief military communications 
of the enemy before the setting of the sun, and con¬ 
vince him that no enterprise was too audacious for the 
Union arms. 


UNFORESEEN HINDRANCES . 


75 


CHAPTER Y. 

UNFORESEEN HINDRANCES. 

After the fire had been made to burn briskly An¬ 
drews jumped off the engine, ran back to the box-car, 
about the door of which we were standing, and clasped 
our hands in an ecstasy of congratulation. He declared 
that all our really hard work was done and that our 
difficulties were nearly passed; that we had the enemy 
at such a disadvantage that he could not harm us; and 
exhibited every sign of joy. Said he, “ Only one train 
to meet, and then we will put our engine to full speed, 
burn the bridges that I have marked out, dash through 
Chattanooga, and on to Mitchel at Huntsville. We’ve 
got the upper hand of the rebels now, and they can’t 
help themselves!” How glad we all were! When, 
three years later, the capture of Richmond set all the 
bells of the North ringing out peals of triumph, the 
sensation of joy was more diffused but less intense than 
we then experienced. Almost everything mankind 
values seemed within our grasp. Oh, if we had met 
but one unscheduled train! 

This reference of Andrews to one’ train which he 
expected to meet before we began to burn bridges has 
been quoted in many public sketches, and has led to 
some misapprehension. He did expect to meet three 
trains before reaching Chattanooga; but two of these 
were regular trains, and being also farther up the road, 
were not supposed to present any serious difficulty. 
Their position at any given time could be definitely as¬ 
certained, and we could avoid collision with them, no 
matter how far we ran ahead of time. But so long as 
there were any irregular trains on the road before us, 


76 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


our only safety was in keeping the regular time of the 
captured train. This was, unfortunately, very slow; 
but if we exceeded it we lost the right of way, and were 
liable to a collision at any moment. This risk was 
greatly increased by our inability to send ahead tele¬ 
graphic notifications of our position. The order of 
southward-bound trains, according to the information 
we then had, was as follows : First, a way-freight, which 
was very uncertain as to time, but which we expected 
to meet early in the morning, and felt sure that it would 
be at Kingston or south of that point. This was the 
only real hindrance according to our programme, and it 
was to this train that Andrews referred. Behind this 
were the regular freight train, and still farther north 
the regular passenger train. As a matter of fact, we 
did meet these trains at Adairsville and Calhoun, the 
latter being somewhat behind time; but we might have 
met them farther north had it not been for unforeseen 
hindrances. 

There is considerable discrepancy in the many pub¬ 
lished accounts of the following chase, which the writer 
has not in every case been able to perfectly reconcile. 
In the intense excitement and novel situations involved 
men were not likely to observe or remember every event 
accurately. But no pains have been spared to combine 
fulness and completeness in the following account. 
Using the best of my own recollections, consulting my 
comrades, reading carefully all published accounts, and 
especially going over the whole route years after, with 
Fuller and Murphy, two of the pursuing party, who 
kindly gave me all the information in their power, it 
is hoped that substantial accuracy has been obtained. 
Some of the incidents of the chase, such as the number 
of times the track was torn up, and whether we were 
fired upon by pursuing soldiers, allow some room for 
a conflict of memory. But the variations are not 
material. 

Side by side with the road ran the telegraph-wires, 


UNFORESEEN HINDRANCES. 


77 


which were able, by the flashing of a single lightning 
message ahead, to arrest our progress and dissipate our 
fondest hopes. There was no telegraph station where 
we had captured the train, but we knew not how soon 
our enemies might reach one, or whether they might 
not have a portable battery at command. Therefore we 
ran but a short distance, after replenishing the furnace, 
before again stopping to cut the wire. 

John Scott, an active young man of the Twenty-first 
Ohio, scrambled up the pole with the agility of a cat, 
and tried to break the wire by swinging upon it; but 
failing in this, he knocked off the insulating box at the 
top of the pole and swung with it down to the ground. 
Fortunately, a small saw was found on the engine, with 
which the wire was severed in two places, and the in¬ 
cluded portion, many yards in length, was taken away 
with us, in order that the ends might not be readily 
joined. 

While one or two of the party were thus engaged 
others worked with equal diligence in taking up a rail 
from the track. No good track-raising instruments 
had been found on the train, and we had not yet pro¬ 
cured them from any other source. A smooth iron 
bar, about four feet long, was the only instrument yet 
found, and with this some of the spikes were slowly 
and painfully battered out. After a few had thus been 
extracted, a lever was got under the rail and the re¬ 
mainder were pried loose. This occupied much more 
time than cutting the wire, and it required no prophet 
to foretell that if we did not procure better tools rail- 
lifting would have to be used very sparingly in our 
programme. In the present instance, however, the loss 
of time was no misfortune, as we were ahead of the 
schedule time, which we still felt bound to observe. 

After another rapid but brief run, we paused long 
enough to chop down a telegraph-pole, cut the wire 
again, and place the pole, with many other obstructions, 
on the track. We did not here try to lift a rail; in- 
7* 


78 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


deed, we bad little serious fear of any pursuit at this 
time, and merely threw on these obstructions because 
of having spare time to employ. 

We thus continued—running a little ahead of time, 
then stopping to obstruct the track and cut the wire— 
until Cass Station was reached, where we took on a 
good supply of wood and water. At this place we also 
obtained a complete time schedule of the road. An¬ 
drews told the tank-tender that we were running a 
powder-train through to the army of General Beaure¬ 
gard at Corinth, which was almost out of ammunition, 
and that the greatest haste was necessary. He further 
claimed to be a Confederate officer of high rank, and 
said that he had impressed this train for the purpose in 
hand, and that Fuller, with the regular passenger train, 
would be along shortly. The whole story was none 
too plausible, as General Mitchel was now interposed 
between our present position and Beauregard, and we 
would never have been able to get a train to the army 
of the latter on this route; but the tender was not 
critical and gave us his schedule, adding that he would 
willingly send his shirt to Beauregard if that general 
needed it. When this man was afterwards asked if he 
did not suspect the character of the enemy he thus 
aided, he answered that he would as soon have sus¬ 
pected the President of the Confederacy himself as 
one who talked so coolly and confidently as Andrews 
did! 

Keeping exactly on regular time, Ave proceeded with¬ 
out any striking adventures until Kingston was reached. 
This place—thirty-two miles from Big Shanty—we re¬ 
garded as marking the first stage of our journey. Two 
hours had elapsed since the capture of the train, and 
hitherto we had been fairly prosperous. No track-lift¬ 
ing instruments had yet been obtained, notwithstanding 
inquiries for them at several stations. We had secured 
no inflammable materials for more readily firing the 
bridges, and the road was not yet clear before us. But, 


UNFORESEEN HINDRANCES. 


79 


on the other hand, no serious hind ranee had yet oc¬ 
curred, and we believed ourselves far ahead of any 
possible pursuit. 

But at Kingston we had some grounds for appre¬ 
hending difficulty. This little town is at the junction 
with the road to Rome, Georgia. Cars and engines 
were standing on the side track. Here we fully ex¬ 
pected to meet our first train, and it would be neces¬ 
sary for us to get the switches properly adjusted before 
we could pass it to go on our way. When we drew 
up at the station there was handed to Andrews our 
first and last communication from the management of 
the road, in the shape of a telegram, ordering Fuller’s 
train—now ours—to wait at Kingston for the local 
freight, which was considerably behind time. The 
order was not very welcome, but we drew out on the 
side track, and watched eagerly for the train. Many 
persons gathered around Andrews, who here, as always, 
personated the conductor of our train, and showered 
upon him many curious and somewhat suspicious ques¬ 
tions. Ours was an irregular train, but the engine was 
recognized as Fuller’s. The best answers possible were 
given. A red flag had been placed on our engine, and 
the announcement was made that Fuller, with another 
engine, was but a short way behind. The powder story 
was emphasized, and every means employed to avoid 
suspicion. Andrews only, and the usual complement 
of train-hands, were visible, the remainder of the party 
being tightly shut up in the car, which was designated 
as containing Beauregard’s ammunition. The strik¬ 
ing personal appearance of Andrews greatly aided him 
in carrying through his deception, which was never 
more difficult than at this station. His commanding 
presence, and firm but graceful address, marked him 
as a Southern gentleman,—a member of the class 
from which a great proportion of the rebel officers 
were drawn. His declarations and orders were there¬ 
fore received with the greater respect on this account. 


80 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


But all these resources were here strained to the 
utmost. 

At length the anxiously-expected local freight train 
arrived, and took its place on another side track. We 
were about to start on our way, with the glad conscious¬ 
ness that our greatest obstacle was safely passed, when 
a red flag was noticed on the hindmost freight-car. 
This elicited immediate inquiry, and we were informed 
that another very long freight train was just behind, and 
that we would be obliged to wait its arrival also. This 
was most unfortunate, as we had been already detained 
at Kingston much longer than was pleasant. There 
were many disagreeable elements in the situation. A 
crowd of persons was rapidly assembling. The train 
from Rome was also nearly due, and though it only 
came to the station and returned on its own branch, 
yet it was not agreeable to notice the constant increase 
of force that our enemies were gaining. If any word 
from the southward arrived, or if our true character 
was revealed in any other way, the peril would be im¬ 
minent. But we trusted that this second delay would 
be brief. Slowly the minutes passed by. To us, w r ho 
were shut up in the box-car, it appeared as if they 
would never be gone. Our soldier comrades on the 
outside kept in the background as much as possible, re¬ 
maining at their posts on the engine and the cars, while 
Andrews occupied attention by complaining of the de¬ 
lay, and declaring that the road ought to be kept clear of 
freight trains when so much needed for the transporta¬ 
tion of army supplies, and when the fate of the whole 
army of the West might depend upon the celerity with 
which it received its ammunition. There was plausi¬ 
bility enough in his words to lull suspicion in all minds 
except that of the old switch-tender of the place, who 
grumbled out his conviction “ that something was wrong 
with that stylish-looking fellow, who ordered every¬ 
body around as if the whole road belonged to him.” 
But no one paid any attention to this man’s complaints, 


UNFORESEEN HINDRANCES. 


81 


and not many minutes after a distant whistle sounded 
from the northward, and we felt that the crisis had 
passed. As there was no more room on the side track, 
Andrews ordered the switch-tender to let this train run 
by on the main track. That worthy was still grumb¬ 
ling, but he reluctantly obeyed, and the long succession 
of cars soon glided by us. 

This meant release from a suspense more intolerable 
than the most perilous action. To calmly wait where 
we could do nothing, while our destiny was being 
wrought out by forces operating in the darkness, was a 
terrible trial of nerve. But it was well borne. Brown, 
Knight, and Wilson, who were exposed to view, ex¬ 
hibited no more impatience than was to be expected of 
men in their assumed situation. Those of us in the 
box-car talked in whispers only, and examined the 
priming of our pistols. We understood that we were 
waiting for a delayed train, and well knew the fearful 
possibilities of an obstructed track, with the speedy de¬ 
tection, and fight against overwhelming odds that would 
follow, if the train for which we waited did not arrive 
sooner than pursuers from Big Shanty. When we rec¬ 
ognized the whistle of the coming train it was almost as 
welcome as the boom of MitchePs cannon, which we 
expected to hear that evening after all our work was 
done. As it rumbled by us we fully expected an in¬ 
stant start, a swift run of a few miles, and then the 
hard work but pleasant excitement of bridge-burning. 
Alas! 

Swift and frequent are the mutations of war. Suc¬ 
cess can never be assured to any enterprise in advance. 
The train for which we had waited with so much anx¬ 
iety had no sooner stopped than we beheld on it an 
emblem more terrible than any comet that ever frighted 
a superstitious continent. Another red flag! An¬ 
other train close behind ! This was terrible, but what 
could be done? With admirable presence of mind 


Andrews moderated 
f 


his impatience, and asked the 


82 CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 

conductor of the newly-arrived train the meaning of 
such an unusual obstruction of the road. His tone 
was commanding, and without reserve the conductor 
gave the full explanation. To Andrews it had a thrill¬ 
ing interest. The commander at Chattanooga had re¬ 
ceived information that the Yankee General Mitchel 
was coming by forced marches and in full strength 
against that town; therefore all the rolling-stock of 
the road had been ordered to Atlanta. This train was 
the first instalment, but another and still longer section 
was behind. It was to start a few minutes after he 
did, and would probably not be more than ten or fifteen 
minutes behind. In turn, the conductor asked An¬ 
drews who he was, and received the information that 
he was an agent of General Beauregard, and that he 
had impressed a train into military service in Atlanta, 
which he was running through with powder, of which 
Beauregard was in extreme need. Under such cir¬ 
cumstances he greatly regretted this unfortunate deten¬ 
tion. The conductor did not suspect the falsity of 
these pretences, but told Andrews that it was very 
doubtful if he could get to Beauregard at Corinth by 
going through Chattanooga, as it was certain that 
Mitchel had captured Huntsville, directly on the line 
between them. Andrews replied that this made no 
difference, as he had his orders, and should press on 
until they were countermanded, adding that Mitchel was 
probably only paying a flying visit to Huntsville, and 
would have to be gone soon, or find Beauregard upon 
him. Andrews also ordered the conductor to run far 
enough down the main track *to allow the next train 
to draw in behind him, and for both trains there to 
wait the coming of Fuller with the regular mail. His 
orders were implicitly obeyed; and then to our party 
recommenced the awful trial of quiet waiting. One 
of the men outside was directed to give notice to those 
in the box-car of the nature of the detention, and 
warn them to be ready for any emergency. Either 


UNFORESEEN HINDRANCES. 


83 


Brown or Knight, I think, executed this commission. 
Leaning against our car, but without turning his eyes 
towards it, and speaking in a low voice, he said, “ We 
are waiting for one of the trains the rebels are running 
off from Mitchel. If we are detected before it comes, 
we will have to fight. Be ready.” We were ready; 
and so intolerable is suspense that most of us would 
have felt as a welcome relief the command to throw 
open our door and spring into deadly conflict. 

Slowly the leaden moments dragged themselves away. 
It seems scarcely creditable, but it is literally true, that 
for twenty-five minutes more we lay on that side track 
and waited,—waited with minds absorbed, pulses leap¬ 
ing, and ears strained for the faintest sound which 
might give a hint as to our destiny. One precious 
hour had we wasted at Kingston,—time enough to 
have burned every bridge between that place and Dal¬ 
ton ! The whole margin of time on which we had 
allowed ourselves to count was two hours; now half 
of that was thrown away at one station, and nothing 
accomplished. We dared wait no longer. Andrews 
decided to rush ahead with the intention of meeting 
this extra train wherever it might be found, and forcing 
it to back before him to the next siding, where he could 
pass it. The resolution w r as in every way dangerous, 
but the danger would at least be of an active character. 
Just at this moment the long-expected whistle was 
heard, and soon the train came into plain view, bring¬ 
ing with it an almost interminable string of cars. The 
weight and length of its train had caused the long de¬ 
lay. Obedient to direction, it followed the first extra 
down the main track, and its locomotive was a long 
way removed from the depot when the last car cleared 
the upper end of the side track on which we lay. At 
length it had got far enough down, and it was possible 
for us to push on. Andrews instantly ordered the 
switch-tender to arrange the track so as to let us out. 

But here a new difficulty presented itself. This man 


84 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


had been in an ill humor from the first, and was now 
fully convinced that something was wrong. Possibly 
the tone in which he was addressed irritated him still 
more. He therefore responded to Andrews’ order by 
a surly refusal, and hung up the keys in the station- 
house. When we in the box-car overheard his denial, 
we were sure that the time for fighting had come. There 
was no more reason for dreading the issue of a conflict 
•at this station than at any other point, and we waited 
the signal with the confident expectation of victory. 

But even a victory at that moment would have been 
most undesirable. We had no wish to shed blood un¬ 
necessarily. A telegraph office was at hand, and it was 
possible that before the wire could be cut a message 
might be flashed ahead. There were also engines in 
readiness for prompt pursuit, and while we might have 
overcome immediate opposition by the use of our fire¬ 
arms, our triumph w T ould have been the signal for a 
close and terrible chase. 

The daring coolness of Andrews removed all em¬ 
barrassments. While men are hesitating and in doubt, 
boldness and promptness on the part of an opponent 
are almost sure to carry the day. Ceasing to address 
the switch-tender, Andrews walked hurriedly into the 
station, and with the truthful remark that he had no 
more time to waste, took down the key and began to 
unlock the switch. The tender cursed him terribly, 
and called for some to arrest him. The crowd around 
also disliked the action, and began to hoot and yell; 
but before any one had decided as to what ought to be 
done Andrews had unlocked and changed the switch, 
and waved his hand for the engineer to come on. It 
was an inexpressible relief when the cars moved for¬ 
ward and the sounds of strife died out. As soon as 
the locomotive passed to the main track, Andrews 
tossed the keys to the ruffled owner of them, saying, in 
his blandest manner, “ Pardon me, sir, for being in 
such a hurry, but the Confederacy can’t wait for every 


UNFORESEEN HINDRANCES. 


85 


man’s notions. You’lLfind it is all right/’ and stepped 
on board his engine. The excitement gradually ceased, 
and no thought of pursuit was entertained until start¬ 
ling intelligence was received a few moments later 
from Big Shanty. 

Before describing the terrible struggle above Kings¬ 
ton, it will be well to narrate the operations of the per¬ 
sons whose train had been so unceremoniously snatched 
from them at Big Shanty. From printed accounts 
published contemporaneously by several of those en¬ 
gaged in the pursuit, as well as from personal responses 
to inquiries made regarding the most material points, 
the writer is confident that he can tell the strange story 
without essential error. It is a striking commentary 
on the promptness of the seizure, that the bystanders 
generally reported that only eight men, instead of 
twenty, had been observed to mount the train. 

William A. Fuller, conductor, Anthony Murphy, 
manager of the State railroad shops at Atlanta, and 
Jefferson Cain, engineer, stepped off their locomotive, 
leaving it unguarded save by the surrounding sentinels, 
and in perfect confidence took their seats at the break¬ 
fast-table at Big Shanty. But before they had tasted 
a morsel of food the quick ear of Murphy, who was 
seated with his back towards the window,, caught the 
sound of escaping steam, and he exclaimed, “Fuller, 
who’s moving your train?’’ Almost simultaneously 
the latter, who was somewhat of a ladies’ man, and was 
bestowing polite attentions upon two or three fair pas¬ 
sengers, saw the same movement, and sprang up, shout¬ 
ing, “ Somebody’s running off with our train !” No 
breakfast was eaten then. Everybody rushed through 
the door to the platform. The train was then fully 
under way, just sweeping out of sight around the first 
curve. With quick decision Fuller shouted to Mur¬ 
phy and Cain, “ Come on !” and started at a full run 
after the flying train ! This attempt to run down and 
catch a locomotive by a foot-race seemed so absurd that 


86 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


as the three, at the top of their speed, passed around 
the same curve, they were greeted with loud laughter 
and ironical cheers by the excited multitude. To all 
appearances it was a foolish and hopeless chase. 

Yet, paradoxical as the statement may seem, this 
chase on foot was the wisest course possible for Fuller 
and his companions. What else could they do ? Had 
they remained quietly in camp, with no show of zeal, 
they would have been reproached with negligence in 
not guarding their train more carefully, even if they 
were not accused with being in league with its captors. 
As they ran, Fuller explained the situation and his 
purposes to his companions. They had neither electric 
battery nor engine. Had they obtained horses, they 
would necessarily have followed the common road, in¬ 
stead of the railroad, and if they thought of that expe¬ 
dient at all, it would be as distasteful to railroad men 
as ‘abandoning their ship to sailors, and they preferred 
leaving that course for others. It would have been 
wise for those who could think of nothing else to do 
to ride as mounted couriers to the stations ahead; but 
whether this was done or not I have never learned. 
Certainly it was not done so promptly as to influence 
the fortunes of the day. 

But the truth is that Fuller and Murphy were at 
first completely deceived as to the nature of the event 
which had taken place. They had been warned to 
guard against the escape of conscript deserters from 
that very camp ; and although they would never have 
suspected an attempt on the part of the conscripts to 
escape by capturing their engine, yet when it w~as seen 
to dash off, the thought of this warning was naturally 
uppermost. Even then Fuller conjectured that they 
would use his engine only to get a mile or two beyond 
the guard line, and then abandon it. He was there¬ 
fore anxious to follow closely in order to find the 
engine and return for his passengers at the earliest 
moment possible. Little did he anticipate the full 



CAPTAIN WM. A. FULLER 
(Conductor of Pursuing Train.) 




Page 87 




























UNFORESEEN HINDRANCES. 


87 


magnitude of the work and the danger before him. 
That any Federal soldiers were within a hundred miles 
of Big Shanty never entered his mind or that of any 
other person. 

For a mile or two the three footmen ran at the top 
of their speed, straining their eyes forward for any 
trace of the lost engine which they expected to see 
halted and abandoned at almost any point on the road. 
But they were soon partially undeceived as to the char¬ 
acter of their enemies. About two miles from the 
place of starting they found the telegraph wire sev¬ 
ered and a portion of it carried away. The fugitives 
were also reported as quietly oiling and inspecting their 
engine. No mere deserters would be likely to think 
of this. The two actions combined clearly indicated 
the intention of making a long run, but who the men 
were still remained a mystery. A few hundred yards 
from this place a party of workmen with a hand-car 
was found, and these most welcome reinforcements 
were at once pressed into the service. 

Fuller’s plans now became more definite and deter¬ 
mined. He had a good hand-car and abundance of 
willing muscle to work it. By desperate exertions, by 
running behind the car and pushing it up the steep 
grades, and then mounting and driving it furiously 
down-hill and on the levels, it was possible to make 
seven or eight miles an hour; at the same time, Fuller 
knew that the captive engine, if held back to run on 
schedule time, as the reports of the workmen indicated, 
would make but sixteen miles per hour. Fuller bent 
all his thoughts and energies towards Kingston, thirty 
miles distant. He had been informed of the extra 
trains to be met at that point, and was justified in sup¬ 
posing that the adventurers would be greatly perplexed 
and hindered by them, even if they were not totally 
stopped. Had the seizure taken place on the preceding 
day, as originally planned, he might well have de¬ 
spaired, for then the road would have been clear. Yet 


88 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


he had one other resource, as will appear in due time, 
of which his enemies knew nothing. 

Fuller did not pause to consider how he should de¬ 
feat the fugitives when he had overtaken them, and he 
might have paid dearly for this rashness. But he could 
rely on help at any station, and when he had obtained 
the means of conveyance, as he would be sure to do at 
Kingston, he could easily find an overwhelming force 
to take with him. This Saturday was appointed as a 
general muster of volunteers, State militia, and con¬ 
scripts, and armed soldiers were abundant in every 
village. But Fuller’s dominant thought was that his 
property—the property with which he had been in¬ 
trusted—was wrested from his grasp, and it was his 
duty to recover it, at whatever of personal hazard. That 
any serious harm was intended to the railroad itself he 
probably did not yet suspect. 

Talking and wearying themselves with idle conjee-' 
tures, but never ceasing to work, Fuller and his party 
pressed swiftly on. But suddenly there was a crash, a 
sense of falling, and when the shock allowed them to 
realize what had happened, they found themselves 
floundering in a ditch half filled with water, and their 
hand-car imbedded in the mud beside them ! They 
had reached the place where the first rail had been torn 
from the track, and had suffered accordingly. But the 
bank was, fortunately for them, not very high at that 
spot, and a few bruises were all the damage they sus¬ 
tained. Their hand-car, which was also uninjured, 
was lifted on the track and driven on again. This in¬ 
cident increased both their caution and their respect 
for the men before them. 

Without further mishap they reached Etowah Sta¬ 
tion, on the northern bank of the river of the same 
name. Here was a large bridge, which the Andrews 
party might have burned without loss of time had they 
foreseen the long detention at Kingston; but its de¬ 
struction was not a part of their plan, and it was suf- 


UNFORESEEN HINDRANCES. 


89 


fered to stand. The mind of Fuller grew very anxious 
as he approached this station. On what he should find 
there depended, in all probability, his power to over¬ 
take the fugitives, whose intentions seemed more for¬ 
midable with each report he received of their actions. 
Andrews had firmly believed that no engine for pur¬ 
suit could be found south of Kingston; but Fuller had 
a different expectation. 

Extensive iron-furnaces were located on the Etowah 
Fiver, about five miles above the station. These works 
were connected with the railroad by a private track, 
which was the property of Major Cooper, as well as the 
works themselves. Murphy knew that Major Cooper 
had also bought an engine called the “ Yonah.” It had 
been built in the shop over which Murphy presided, 
and was one of the best locomotives in the State. “ But 
where,” Fuller and Murphy asked themselves, “ is this 
engine now ?” If it was in view of the adventurers as 
they passed, they had doubtless destroyed it, ran it off the 
track, or carried it away with them. They could not af¬ 
ford to neglect such an element in the terrible game they 
were playing. But if it was now at the upper end of 
the branch at the mines, as was most probable, it would 
take the pursuers five miles out of their way to go for 
it, and even then it might not be ready to start. This 
diversion could not be afforded. Fuller and Murphy 
had come nineteen miles, and had already consumed 
two hours and three-quarters. The adventurers were 
reported as passing each station on time, and if this 
continued they must have reached Kingston forty-fiye 
minutes before Fuller and his companions arriyed at 
Etowah, thirteen miles behind them. One hoqr and a 
half more to Kingston,—this was the very best that could 
be done with the hand-car. It was clear that if the 
“ Yonah” did not come to their assistance, they were as 
effectually out of the race as if on the other side of the 
ocean. Everything now hinged on the position of that 
one engine. 


8 * 


90 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


Here we may pause to note how all coincidences, we 
might almost say providences, seemed to work against 
the bridge-burning enterprise. We were at Kingston 
three-quarters of an hour before our pursuers reached 
Etowah, thirteen miles distant. If there had been no 
extra trains, or if they had been sharply on time, so 
that we could have passed the three with a delay not 
exceeding fifteen or twenty minutes, which ought to 
have been an abundant allowance, every bridge above 
Kingston would have been in ashes before sundown! 
Or if the delay had been as great as it actually was, 
even then, if the locomotive “ Yonah” had occupied 
any position excepting one, the same result would have 
followed. 

But Fuller, Murphy, and Cain, with the several 
armed men they had picked up at the stations passed, 
could not repress shouts of exultation when they saw 
the old “ Yonah” standing on the main track, ready 
fired up, and headed towards Kingston. It had just 
arrived from the mines, and in a short time would have 
returned again. Thus a new element of tremendous 
importance, which had been ignored in all our calcula¬ 
tions, was introduced into the contest. 

The pursuers seized their inestimable prize, called for 
all the volunteers who could snatch guns at a moment’s 
notice, and were soon swiftly but cautiously rushing 
with the power of steam towards Kingston. The speed 
of nearly a mile a minute was in refreshing contrast to 
the slow and laborious progress of the hand-car, and 
they were naturally jubilant. But what lay before them 
at Kingston ? The frequent obstructions of the track, 
the continued cutting of the telegraph, and especially 
the cool assumption of the leader of the adventurers in 
calling himself a Confederate officer of high rank in 
charge of an impressed powder train, all conspired to 
deepen their conviction that some desperate scheme was 
on foot. But they did not pause long to listen to re¬ 
ports. Their eyes and their thoughts were bent towards 


UNFORESEEN HINDRANCES. 


91 


Kingston. Had the adventurers been stopped there, or 
had they surprised and destroyed the trains met? The 
pursuers could scarcely form a conjecture as to what 
was before them; but the speed with which they were 
flying past station after station would soon end their 
suspense. Even the number of men on the flying train 
was a matter of uncertainty. At the stations passed ob¬ 
servers reported that only four or five were seen; but 
the track-layers and others who had observed them at 
work were confident of a much larger number,—twenty- 
five or thirty at the least. Besides, it was by no means 
sure that they had not confederates in large numbers to 
co-operate with them at the various stations along the 
road. Fuller knew about how many persons had en¬ 
tered the train at Marietta; but it was not sure that 
these were all. A hundred more might be scattered 
along the way, at various points, ready to join in what¬ 
ever strange plan was now being worked out. No con¬ 
jecture of this kind that could be formed was a particle 
more improbable than the startling events that had al¬ 
ready taken place. The cool courage of these pursuers, 
who determined to press forward and do their own duty 
at whatever risk, cannot be too highly rated. If they 
arrived at Kingston in time to unmask the pretension 
of the mysterious “ Confederate officer/’ there would 
doubtless be a desperate fight; but the pursuers could 
count on assistance there and all along the line. 

Fuller reached Kingston at least an hour earlier than 
would have been possible with the hand-car, and a 
single glance showed that the adventurers were gone, 
and his hopes of arresting them at that point were 
ended. They were, however, barely out of sight, and 
all their, start had been reduced to minutes. But here 
again the pursuit was checked. The foresight of An¬ 
drews had blockaded the road as much as possible with 
the trains which had so long hindered his own move¬ 
ments. Two large and heavy trains stood on the main 
road ; one of the two side tracks was occupied by the 


92 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


third freight, and the other by the engine of the Rome 
branch. There was no ready means for the passage of 
the “ Yonah.” Some precious time was employed in 
giving and receiving information, in telling of the seizure 
at Big Shanty, and hearing of the deportment of An¬ 
drews and his men at Kingston. Then a dispute arose 
as to the best means of continuing the pursuit, which 
threatened to disunite Fuller and Murphy. The latter 
wished to continue the chase with the “ Yonah,” which 
was a fine engine, with large wheels; but Fuller would 
not wait to get the freights out of the way, and, jump¬ 
ing on the Rome engine, he called on all who were will¬ 
ing to assist him to come on. A large, enthusiastic, and 
well-armed company instantly volunteered; the new 
engine, the “ Shorter,” pulled out, and Murphy had only 
time to save himself from the disgrace of being left be¬ 
hind by jumping on the hindmost car as it swept past. 
With all the time lost in making this transfer, and in 
mutual explanations, the pursuers left Kingston just 
twenty minutes behind the Federals. 

What Fuller and his friends learned at Kingston left 
no doubt on their minds that some deliberate and far- 
reaching military movement was on foot. While its pre¬ 
cise nature was yet concealed, the probability that the 
road itself, and possibly Confederate towns and stores, 
were to be destroyed, was freely conceded. All agreed 
that the one thing to be done was to follow their enemies 
closely, and thus compel them to turn and fight or 
abandon their enterprise. A large force—one or two 
hundred well-armed men—was taken on board, and in¬ 
structions left that as soon as the track could be cleared 
another armed train was to follow for the purpose of 
rendering any needed assistance. 


A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE. 


93 


CHAPTER VI. 

A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE. 

We will now resume the direct narrative. 

When Kingston was left behind, it was believed by 
our leader that, notwithstanding all our vexatious de¬ 
lays, we still had a margin of at least an hour’s time. 
Our movements were arranged on that supposition. 
The next considerable station, Adairsville, was about 
ten miles distant, and the intervening country compara¬ 
tively level. There were no considerable bridges in 
this space, and the most we could do was to run swiftly, 
and occasionally to obstruct the track. Our speed was 
increased to about forty miles an hour, and this swift 
running, after our long halt at Kingston, was ex¬ 
quisitely delightful. Looking out from the crevices 
of the box-car, we saw the hills and trees gliding swiftly 
by, and felt that each moment we were getting farther 
away from the foes who had so long surrounded us, 
and nearer safety and triumph. While we were ac¬ 
tually under way our prospects did not yet seem very 
unfavorable. There were yet one freight and one pas¬ 
senger train to meet, which we would now encounter 
an hour farther south, because of our long hindrance; 
but we felt confident of our power to deceive or over¬ 
power them, and they did not embarrass our running 
because they were on the regular schedule. The freight 
was now almost due at Adairsville, and we expected 
the passenger train to overtake and go ahead of it from 
that point. If they were both on time we would also 
meet them there, and then have an absolutely open road 
to Chattanooga. It will show the tremendous risks 
that encompassed our enterprise, when we reflect that 


94 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


so trifling a circumstance as the delay or the misplace¬ 
ment of a train could introduce an “ if” into our most 
hopeful plans. 

A short distance south of Adairsville we again 
stopped, and Andrews called us to come forth and 
work with a will. No exhortation was needed. John 
Scott, as usual, climbed the telegraph-pole, and the 
wire was soon severed. Two or three rails were slowly 
and painfully battered loose with our iron bar, which 
still constituted our only instrument for track-lifting. 
These were loaded on the car to carry away with us. 
There happened to be a large number of cross-ties 
lying near, and these we also loaded up for future use. 
When all was done we moved on, feeling that we had 
provided for the delay or destruction of any train that 
might pursue. It was also probable that the first train 
which met us at Adairsville would be wrecked. This 
was not our design, as we did not relish wanton mis¬ 
chief ; but there was no safe way of giving warning, 
and a wrecked train would have been a considerable 
obstruction of the track. 

We reached Adairsville before the expected freight, 
but had only just taken our place on the side track 
when its whistle was heard. When it came up, An¬ 
drews, who still personated a Confederate officer, and 
exacted and received the obedience which in those days 
of conscription and impressment was readily yielded "to 
military authority, ordered the train to be run past the 
station and back again on the side track behind his 
own, to wait for the expected passenger train. The 
usual explanations about the powder train were re¬ 
peated to credulous ears. Then came five minutes of 
suspense and waiting. The train was behind time,— 
a trifling matter in itself, but, in our situation, each 
minute might turn the scale between death and life. 
We could not afford to repeat the experience of Kings¬ 
ton. Not one bridge had yet been burned, and all we 
could show for our hazard, beside our captured train, 


A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE. 


95 


were a few cross-ties and lifted rails. After a whis¬ 
pered word of consultation with his engineer, who was 
willing to assume the most deadly risks rather than to 
lie still, Andrews remarked to the bystanders that a 
government powder express must not be detained by 
any number of passenger trains, and then gave the 
word, “ Go ahead!” 

We started quite moderately, but, as soon as the sta¬ 
tion was out of sight, we noticed a wonderful accelera¬ 
tion of speed. The cars seemed almost to leap from the 
track, and we whirled from side to side at a bewilder¬ 
ing rate. There was scarcely any slackening for curves 
or grades, and our whistle rang out with scarcely a 
moment’s cessation. In the box-car we could retain 
no position for more than an instant, and were jostled 
over each other and against the sides of the car much 
oftener than was pleasant. No one of us had ever 
rode at such a rate before. Though we had no means 
of measuring the speed, none of us estimated it at less 
than a mile a minute. What was the meaning of such 
a break-neck pace ? Had Andrews discovered that we 
were pursued, and was he making a desperate effort to 
escape from the enemy ? Or was he simply hurrying 
to the bridges we were to burn ? Such questions were 
easier asked than answered, for two cars and the tender 
intervened between us and the locomotive, on which 
our leader was. At any rate, the moments were rap¬ 
idly carrying us towards our own lines, and a very few 
hours of such running would see us delivered from the 
series of perils which had so long environed us. We 
had learned that just beyond Calhoun, a station only ten 
miles from Adairsville, there was a large bridge, which 
we knew was marked for destruction. If that was 
passed without stopping, we would be convinced that 
an enemy was on our track, and that the race was sim¬ 
ply for life. A few minutes w r ould decide. But in the 
mean time, as an enemy might be following us, it oc¬ 
curred to the writer that it would be well to continue 


96 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


obstructing the track. This was accomplished by 
breaking open the hind end of the last box-car, and 
shoving out one by one the ties previously loaded. A 
part only of the ties on board were thus employed, as 
we thought it possible that the remainder might be 
more useful in other directions. Many of those sprin¬ 
kled on the track showed a perverse disposition to 
jump off, but we felt sure that enough remained to 
make a pursuer cautious. Nothing more impressed us 
with the fearful speed of our train than the manner in 
which these ties seemed instantly to vanish when they 
touched the ground. 

By thus exerting the full speed of the engine An¬ 
drews hoped to reach Calhoun before the belated pas¬ 
senger train should arrive. The engineer stood with 
his hand on the lever ready to reverse his engine the 
moment an opposing train was sighted. The open 
character of the country in this part of the route per¬ 
mitted a good outlook. The whistle was also kept 
sounding that an opposite train might be warned and 
checked. It was the intention of Andrews, in case of 
meeting the expected train, to reverse his own engine 
only long enough to escape the danger of collision, 
and then to persuade or compel the other to back be¬ 
fore him to the first siding. This lightning-like run 
was bold and full of peril, but it was wise. Had the 
same risk been promptly assumed at Kingston the whole 
future of the enterprise would have been different. But 
we reached Calhoun before any train was met. When 
we slackened speed, just before arriving at the station, 
we shoved out one more cross-tie, and then carefully 
concealed the hole in the car by piling other ties across 
it. As we drew nearer, great was the satisfaction of 
Andrews and his engineer when they saw the belated 
passenger train—our last obstacle—lying quietly at the 
station. It had been just starting, but, on hearing our 
whistle, it awaited our arrival. We ran down almost 
against it, and, without getting off his locomotive, An- 


A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE. 


97 


drews shouted his orders to have the road cleared for 
an impressed powder train. The news from the north 
and west—the panic caused by the rumored approach 
of General Mitchel—made this sudden demand seem 
less unreasonable, and it was unhesitatingly obeyed. 
The passenger train was switched out of the way, and 
we glided smoothly by the last train we were to meet. 
Thus, at length, we had reached the ground where 
bridge-burning w r as to begin, and all obstacles were out 
of the way; what could hinder full and decisive suc¬ 
cess? 

Fuller and Murphy had not left Kingston many 
minutes before they became conscious of the error they 
had committed in exchanging the “ Yon ah” for the 
“ Shorter.” The latter was a weak engine with small 
wheels. It was now forced to the utmost, oil being 
freely used with the wood in the furnace; but they 
were unable to equal the tremendous speed with which 
they had made the previous stage of their journey. 
Though they had but two or three cars and the advan¬ 
tage of a level and unobstructed track, they could not 
exceed forty miles an hour. They maintained a vigi¬ 
lant lookout, but ran with the steam-valve entirely 
open, while Murphy and Cain both grasped the lever, 
ready to use their combined weight and strength in 
reversing the motion if any obstacle should be descried. 
Their vigilance was soon approved. They observed 
the point at which we had removed rails, and, by re¬ 
versing, were able to arrest their motion just on the 
edge of the break. But here they found themselves 
confronted with a terrible obstacle. They had no rails 
to replace those that had been carried off. Some in¬ 
struments for track-laying were on board, and it was 
suggested to tear up rails behind and place them in the 
break. This double labor required too much time to 
suit the ardent temper of Fuller and Murphy. At 
once they repeated the old tactics which alone had given 
them any hope of success. They abandoned their en- 
e g 9 


98 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


gine and ran ahead once more on foot. The remainder 
of their company remained behind, and probably did, 
after a time, succeed in lifting rails behind their engine 
and laying them down before, as a contemporaneous 
account asserts; but they had no further real part in 
the chase. 

Before the two footmen had gone far they encoun¬ 
tered the regular freight train that we had met at 
Adairsville. Thus their delay was reduced to a very 
small amount. It seems that almost as soon as An¬ 
drews and his party had left Adairsville for their rapid 
flight towards Calhoun, this train, guided either by the 
decision of the conductor, or by a telegraphic message 
from the management of the road, started southward, 
and were met no more than a mile or two on their way 
by the dauntless pursuers. Great was the amazement 
of the men on the freight train to learn that the fine- 
looking Confederate officer with whom they had been 
talking five minutes before was probably a “ Yankee” 
engaged in the most daring exploit of the war. But 
not much time was allowed for the indulgence of any 
emotion. Fuller promptly took command of the train 
and backed it with all possible speed to Adairsville. 
Its engine, the “ Texas,” was known to Fuller as one of 
the largest and best in the State. While backing and 
pushing the whole train of nearly twenty cars it made 
the most rapid speed that they had yet atttained. 

But still greater speed was necessary, and by throwing 
all but one or two cars on the side track at Adairsville, 
the noble engine was relieved and enabled to show all 
its fine qualities. No turn-table being at hand, it had 
still to be run backward; but that position does not ma¬ 
terially lessen the power of an engine, though the risk 
of accident is somewhat increased. This risk had been 
taken, however, in so many instances by the desperate 
pursuers, and with perfect safety, that they were will¬ 
ing to tempt fortune still further. The engineer of 
the captured train had been left behind at the last 


A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE. 99 

break, but liis place was ably supplied by Peter 
Bracken, of the “ Texas.” Starting from Adairsville 
with a full head of steam, the distance of ten miles to 
Calhoun was run in twelve minutes, and even this tre¬ 
mendous speed would have been exceeded but for the 
slight delay caused by the ties dropped on the track. 
When one of these obstructions was seen, Fuller, who 
had stationed himself for that purpose on the end of 
the tender which ran ahead, would jump otf, remove 
the tie, and be back to his place almost before the en¬ 
gine ceased to move. The uniform mode of stopping 
to clear the track was by reversing the engine. Aside 
from the time lost in these stops, the running must 
have exceeded a mile per minute. This exceeding ra¬ 
pidity prevented any loss of distance in this stage of 
the pursuit. 

At Calhoun, Fuller scarcely made a full stop. He 
told his tale in a few words and called for volunteers. 
A number came just as he was moving on again; in¬ 
deed, after the train was well under way, he secured a 
still more valuable prize. The telegraph managers at 
Chattanooga had found that the wires were broken, and 
were endeavoring to discover the source of mischief. 
By telegraphing to different stations and asking for re¬ 
plies, they could easily make an approximate estimate. 
But the difficulty was coming nearer: they discovered 
that one station after another was being cut off from 
communication with headquarters. South of Calhoun 
they could get no reply at the time the passenger train 
reached Dalton. They had, therefore, directed the 
only operator at that station—a mere boy—to leave his 
post and go to Calhoun for the purpose of discovering 
and remedying the mischief. Fuller recognized him 
on the platform, and reached out his hand, shouting, 
“ Come!” The boy took hold and was lifted on the 
flying engine. 

With no thought of our deadly peril we had stopped 
a short distance above Calhoun to cut the telegraph 


100 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


and oil the engine. Several of us were also engaged 
in battering out the spikes preparatory to lifting an¬ 
other rail. As we expected to spend ten or fifteen 
minutes in burning the large bridge which spanned the 
Oostenaula River, a little distance from us, Andrews 
thought it better that we should have a rail up in or¬ 
der to guard against the possibility of the train we had 
just passed being turned back after us in time to inter¬ 
rupt our work. It might have been better, as we were 
tempted to think afterwards, if we had begun on the 
bridge directly; but it was absolutely necessary to cut 
the wire, and the lifting of the rail would not take an 
additional minute. 

The engine was inspected, and found to be still in 
perfect condition, though both wood and water were 
running low; the wire was severed; and eight of us 
had just taken hold of the loose end of a rail, out of 
which the spikes had been battered, and were trying to 
pull the other end loose also. But it was too firmly 
fixed, and we were about to release it, and wait the 
taking out of a few more spikes, when, away in the dis¬ 
tance, we heard the whistle of an engine in pursuit! 
The effect was magical. With one convulsive effort 
the rail was broken asunder, and the whole party 
pitched in a heap over the low embankment.’ No one 
was hurt, and we were on our feet in a moment. 

It did not require many moments to realize the situ¬ 
ation. Our enemies were upon us at last! Their train 
was in plain sight. We could even see that they were 
well armed. There seemed to be no resource but 
flight. 

But from whence came this train ? The facts with 
which the reader is already familiar were all unknown 
to us, and the apparition of the pursuers all the more 
terrible on that account. We knew the difficulties 
against which we had struggled, and little thought that 
our pursuers had encountered nearly equal obstacles, 
over which they had so far been marvellously victorious. 


A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE. 


101 


Greater surprise would not have been created in our 
ranks had the locomotive, to whose scream we unwill¬ 
ingly listened, dropped from the sky ! One plausible 
conjecture only presented itself as to the presence of 
this train, and, if this one was correct, it could be but 
the earnest of speedy defeat and death. Possibly a 
telegraphic message from the other side of Big Shanty 
had traversed the wide circuit of more than two thou¬ 
sand miles past Atlanta, Richmond, Chattanooga, and 
back again to Calhoun, reaching the latter place just 
before the wire was cut, and inducing them to start 
back the train we had just met at full speed after us. 
All this was possible,—at least it seemed so to those of 
us who were not in the secret of the wide-spread system 
of military operations,—unless, indeed, the foresight of 
our government had provided at this very time for the 
severing of the telegraph on the Carolina coast, at which 
place alone this circuit came within striking distance of 
the Union lines. 

But we had no time for idle conjectures. The fact 
was patent that a train was bearing down upon us at 
full speed. “ Shall we stand and fight ? Shall we 
attack them now ?” were questions eagerly asked. 

But Andrews still hesitated to depart from the course 
pursued so far. We had the rail broken which would 
arrest the enemy, and probably give us time to fire the 
bridge ahead. Then all might yet be well,—that is if 
the stations ahead were not warned, and the track ob¬ 
structed before us. Should that prove the case, then 
to stand and sell our lives as dearly as possible, or, 
abandoning our engine, to fly on foot across the coun¬ 
try, were all the alternatives. The crisis of our fate 
drew near, and our hardest and sharpest work lay just 
ahead. 

Influenced by such considerations, which were then 
mainly confined to his own mind, Andrews, without a 
moment’s hesitation, gave the signal, which was as 
quickly obeyed, for mounting the train. The en- 
9* 


102 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


gineer threw the valve wide open, and, with a spring 
that threw us from our feet, the noble steed was once 
more careering forward. To his companions on the 
locomotive Andrews said, quietly, as he eyer spoke in 
times of deepest excitement, “Push her, boys; let her 
do her best. We must lose no time in getting to the 
bridge above.” Some of the engine oil was thrown 
into the furnace, and the already fiery pace sensibly 
quickened. The problem seemed perfectly simple. If 
we could reach the bridge, and get it well on fire in 
less time than our enemies could piece out the broken 
rail, we had still a chance of life and success. If not, 
more desperate means became necessary. The speed 
of the engine might save us a precious half-minute, and 
on such a narrow margin everything turned. Nobly 
did our good old locomoti ve respond to the call! Rock¬ 
ing, whirling, bounding,—it seemed a marvel that some 
of the box-cars were not hurled from the track. Inside 
these cars all was action. Though we could scarcely 
keep one position a moment, idleness could not now be 
indulged. We knew that the time for concealment had 
passed, and we wrought with flying fingers in prepara¬ 
tion for our incendiary work. The forward end of our 
box-car, and both ends of the others, were knocked out 
by employing one of the heavy cross-ties as a battering- 
ram, and the greater part of the sides were loosened in 
the same manner, and torn into fragments for kindling. 
This destruction of barriers also opened a way of com¬ 
munication with the engine. Andrews approved what 
we had done, and told us frankly that our lives prob¬ 
ably depended on the number of seconds we consumed 
in getting the bridge on fire. Just then an exclamation 
of wonder and dismay from our keen-sighted fireman, 
Alfred Wilson, drew attention. He declared positively 
that he saw the smoke of the pursuing engine still fol¬ 
lowing us! It was scarcely credible, but he was so 
positive, and it was so important to know the truth, 
that our speed was slackened to ascertain. In a mo- 


A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE. 103 

ment a whistle, clear and unmistakable, rang out from 
beyond a curve we had just passed. All doubt was at 
an end; but our surprise and consternation were as 
great as when the train was first discovered in pursuit. 
There had been no time to lay again the rail we had 
taken up, and the broken half of which we still had 
with us. It seemed a miracle wrought against us. But 
Andrews’ resources were not yet exhausted. He or¬ 
dered another effort, which might yet give us time to 
fire the bridge ahead, that he was most unwilling to 
pass without destroying. The locomotive was re¬ 
versed, and our kindling-wood, with most of the ties, 
carried forward, and the moment we began to move 
backward the hindmost car was uncoupled. The pur¬ 
suing locomotive was then in fearful proximity. We 
could see that it was running backward, and that a 
number of men were crowded on it. Almost at the 
same moment its machinery was reversed and ours 
turned forward. As we left them at lightning speed 
we could just see that their velocity was well checked 
before they touched our abandoned car. 

But this was not yet sufficient. As we came to the 
next slight up-grade the same manoeuvre was repeated, 
and our second car flung back at the enemy in like 
manner. The time lost in doing this brought them 
again near us, and we saw that they were pushing our 
first car before them. 

But how had they passed the broken rail? For 
years I could get no satisfactory information on this 
subject. Some Confederate accounts spoke of a rail 
being taken up behind and laid down before the en¬ 
gine. But the time was too short to permit such an 
action. That a stop could be made, a rail taken up, 
spiked down again, and our engine, running faster than 
the wind, overtaken,—all of this well inside of five 
minutes,—was incredible. Very probably this course 
was adopted in the case of the next , train which was 
pursuing not far behind. Other Confederate accounts 


104 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


say nothing about this rail, while a few assert that it 
was not broken at all, but only loosened and left in its 
place. But having personally helped in the desperate 
pull, having fallen down the bank with the party, and 
carried one end of the rail to put on our car, besides 
having my left hand long suffer from being clasped 
under the hand of William Campbell, the strongest 
man of our party, I naturally cannot accept this ex¬ 
planation. Conductor Fuller gave another solution of 
the mystery scarcely less strange, which I repeat as he 
gave it to me. He said that when he saw our engine 
start on from this point he could see no obstruction, and 
allowed the train to continue at high speed. A moment 
after he noticed a short blank in one of the rails. A 
terrible fear swept over him, for it was now too late to 
stop. But quick as a lightning-flash he noticed an¬ 
other fact,—that the place of the missing rail was on 
the inside of a sharp curve. He explained to me that 
a train at a very high rate of speed throws the most of 
its weight on the outside rail of a curve, which is always 
made a little higher than the other. Had an outside 
rail been broken the destruction of their train would 
have been inevitable, but the break was on the inside. 
With that rapid decision which the better class of rail¬ 
road men learn to exercise, he signalled to the engineer, 
“ Faster; faster yet!” There was a sharp jolt, and the 
locomotive and the cars attached were on the other side 
of the obstruction with their speed not even abated. 
The next train which followed was the passenger train 
that we had met at Calhoun, which had also been 
turned back after us. This train had track-layers and 
instruments on board, and did very quickly repair the 
damage; but if Fuller had waited even that long the 
bridge over the Oostenaula would have been wrapped 
in flames before his arrival. 

Fuller saw the car we dropped, and by promptly 
having his engine reversed, reduced the collision to 
merely a smart shock. It was dextrously coupled fast 


A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE. 


105 


and driven forward at full speed. The second car we 
dropped was treated in the same manner, and the 
enemy’s speed was scarcely diminished. The time lost 
in dropping the cars was about as long as that lost in 
coupling to them. 

Thus in the short space between Calhoun and the 
Oostenaula River three hindrances or perils, the great¬ 
ness of which will be best appreciated by railroad men, 
were overcome by the skill and daring of Fuller’s 
band, and in spite of them they attained a rate of run¬ 
ning on this crooked and irregular road which would 
have been most remarkable on a perfectly smooth and 
unobstructed track. 

Now the Oostenaula bridge was in sight, and we 
slackened speed for a desperate attempt to burn it. 
But before we could come to a full stop the pursuer 
was close upon us, and very reluctantly we steamed 
over the bridge and continued our flight. The pros¬ 
pect was rapidly darkening before us. It was certain 
that one of the trains we had met at Adairsville or 
Calhoun was turned back after us and driven with the 
utmost determination. Of all conjectures to account 
for this pursuit, that of a telegram by the way of Rich¬ 
mond was most probable and most portentous. If this 
was really the case, our fate was sealed. With a re¬ 
lentless pursuer hanging upon our heels, and the towns 
ahead warned and ready to dispute our passage, human 
bravery and foresight would avail nothing. I have 
no doubt the mind of Andrews was weighed down and 
perplexed by the uncertainty of our situation. Could 
we have known even as much of the number and plans 
of our foes as they knew of ours—above all, could we 
have known whether the road was open before us—the 
problem would have been simpler. Yet we had but 
two hopes: to wreck the train behind us, a task of no 
small difficulty now they were on their guard ; or, fail¬ 
ing in this, to distance them in running far enough to 
lift some rails or burn one of the bridges still ahead. 


106 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


If only one bridge could be burned, it would stop the 
pursuit for the time and leave us free to encounter the 
opposition before us. 

Accordingly the jaded a General” was spurred to 
full speed. The load was now lighter, and as much 
of the kindling as we thought it prudent to spare was 
used in putting the furnace into a fiercer blaze. We 
also resumed the practice of dropping cross-ties from 
the rear of the car. These efforts had a marked effect 
in delaying the pursuers, for their smoke and whistle 
soon ceased to disturb us. But while running at this 
violent rate we had passed Resaca and thought it pru¬ 
dent to again cut the telegraph. While stopping for 
this purpose the writer took a rail which had been bent 
in lifting it, and placed it so that one end was held 
firmly under the track, and the other projected at a 
little elevation, towards the pursuing train. This was 
not more than accomplished when that train was heard 
again, and we mounted our engine and sped onward. 
As the rail was small and dark, the enemy ran right 
on it before it was observed, and Fuller afterwards de¬ 
clared that if it had been a little lower, it would have 
been sure to wreck them. But as it was, the end struck 
the edge of the car, and it was knocked harmlessly 
from the track. 

Above Tilton we succeeded in getting a full supply 
of water from the tank. This was most welcome, as 
the water was nearly exhausted. The wood-station 
was at another place, and as our supply ran low we 
threw on fence-rails or any other available fuel when¬ 
ever stopping to cut the wires. 

Our condition was now widely different and more 
unfavorable than it was a short time before. With 
only one car, and that almost torn to pieces, even the 
magnificent coolness and self-possession of Andrews 
could scarcely avert suspicion at any station where we 
might be driven to halt. And with all our efforts we 
could never get much more than out of sight of our 


A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE . 107 

pursuers. The time required for cutting wires and 
spent in trying to take up track compensated almost 
exactly for the time our pursuers spent in removing 
the obstructions we continued to throw before them. 
With all their efforts they could not get within easy 
gunshot of us ; neither could we distance them far 
enough for the decisive operation of burning a bridge., 
The relation of the two parties was peculiar and well! 
defined. Each party soon came to recognize the] 
strength and weakness which belonged to its own situ-* 
ation. With their better engine it would have been 
comparatively easy for our pursuers to come near 
enough to pick off man after man with their guns, 
while entirely out of reach of our revolvers. But had 
they come up so close, any obstruction we might have 
placed on the track would have been terribly efficient. 
As long as we possessed cross-ties or anything large 
enough to wreck a train they were bound to keep a 
respectful distance. The most favorable position for 
them was just far enough in the rear to see when we 
stopped or threw anything on the track, thus enabling 
them to check up in time. They dared not come nearer 
than this while we were in rapid motion, but they were 
often farther behind. 

Mile after mile the terrible chase continued. Station 
after station was passed without the least lessening of 
speed. The idlers about the platforms started back in 
amazement and affright when they saw a train dash by 
like a thunderbolt, closely followed by three others, the 
latter screaming as loudly as their whistles were able. 
To us, who were looking out from the baggage-car, 
houses and villages, groves and hills, flashed by almost 
too quickly for distinct vision. Then, in the hottest 
speed, the whistle would sound “ down brakes,” and 
the stop—usually made by reversing the engine—would 
be so sudden that we needed to cling convulsively to 
avoid being hurled from our places; then, in a moment, 
we would spring to the ground and labor with the en- 


108 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


ergy of despair at destroying the telegraph and the 
track, or loading on ties, until the signal,—usually from 
behind, given by the pursuing train,—when all would 
rush on board, and the engine, putting its full strength 
into the first leap, would dash on, jerking from their feet 
all who were not braced for the shock. When under way 
we could not sit down because of the terrible jolting of 
the springless car. If we attempted to stand we fell 
over or were thrown against the little that remained of 
the sides of the car, and had to be very watchful not to 
be thrown off altogether. Our actual position was a 
rapid alternation of all possible attitudes, the favorite 
being—-judging from the frequency with which it was 
assumed—that of bending over with the hands and 
feet resting on the floor. 

Those who were on the engine had a better oppor¬ 
tunity of observing all that was passing. Alfred Wil¬ 
son, who acted as our fireman, gives a vivid picture of 
the race from that point of view. He says,— 

“ Our locomotive was under a full head of steam. The engi¬ 
neer stood with his hand on the lever with the valve wide open. 
It was frightful to see how the powerful iron monster under us 
would leap forward under the revolution of her great wheels. 
Brown (the engineer) would scream to me ever and anon, ‘ Give 
her more wood, Alfl’ which command was promptly obeyed. 
She rocked and reeled like a drunken man, while we reeled from 
side to side like grains of pop-corn in a hot frying-pan. It was 
bewildering to look at the ground or objects on the roadside. A 
constant stream of fire ran from the rims of the great wheels, 
and to this day I shudder when I reflect on that, my first and 
last locomotive ride. We sped past stations, houses, and fields, 
and were out of sight almost like a meteor' while the bystanders, 
who barely caught a glimpse of us as we passed, looked on as if 
in both fear and amazement. It has always been a wonder to 
me that our locomotive and cars kept the track at all, or how 
they could possibly stay on the track. At times the iron horse 
seemed to literally fly over the course, the driving-wheels of one 
side being lifted from the rails much of the distance over which 
we now sped with a velocity fearful to contemplate.” 

But swift running alone could not save us. In a 
mere trial of speed between the two engines we were 


A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE. 


109 


sure in the end to be worsted. To wreck the pursuing 
train was our great object, and to that end we employed 
every expedient we could devise. By this time we had 
a few more track-raising instruments, which Andrews 
and Wilson had simultaneously taken from some switch- 
tenders. Earlier in the race they would have been 
worth their weight in gold, but it was now too late. 
Even with their help we could take up a rail no quicker 
than the Confederates, with ample supplies of rails, in¬ 
struments, and trained workmen, could lay another 
down. All the efforts we made in this direction were 
a mere waste of time. 

But the swiftness of pursuit was carrying both par¬ 
ties over long spaces. The next station of importance 
that lay before us was Dalton, and this place, twenty- 
two miles from Calhoun, was soon reached. This was 
the largest town we had approached since starting in 
the morning. It was the junction of another road 
which led to Cleveland, on the main line to Richmond. 
It had a further and terrible interest to us, in the 
knowledge that there we would learn whether our 
character had really been telegraphed ahead of us by 
the way of the coast lines and Richmond. But if it 
had, we would learn it too late to make the knowledge 
of any service. We would find a military force ready 
to receive us at the depot, and our race would be run. 
Yet we approached cautiously, ready, if there were any 
suspicious indications, to reverse the engine at once and 
run back towards the pursuing train, with the intention 
of getting out of the town and trying to escape through 
the fields. But we saw no more than the usual number 
of persons about the depot, and Andrews at once leaped 
from the engine, examined the switch, which was ad¬ 
justed to throw a train on the Cleveland fork of the 
road, had it changed, and answered all questions as 
coolly and composedly as ever. The whole had to be 
done very promptly, as the appearance of our poor 
battered train was sadly against us, and we knew that 


110 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


in a town the size of Dalton it would be easy to find 
force enough for our arrest. Besides, it was sure that 
in a few seconds Fuller and his tireless band would 
appear on the scene. In no period of this eventful 
day does the courage and self-control of Andrews shine 
out more brightly than in the manner in which he here 
caused the persons about the depot in a moment to obey 
his orders and believe his story, even while thinking it 
possible that they might have previous information of 
his designs, and be only waiting the arrival of assist¬ 
ance to destroy him. The pursuing train was heard as 
expected. Before our foes came near enough to reveal 
our character everything was arranged, and taking the 
left-hand road, that which led directly to Chattanooga, 
we again darted forward. 

This was, however, a decisive point in the race. 
When we thus passed Dalton without having destroyed 
our pursuers, we knew that all hope of passing through 
Chattanooga with our engine must be abandoned. All 
uneasiness on account of a possible telegram from Rich¬ 
mond was at an end, but there was a nearer danger, 
which defined the limits beyond which we could no 
longer hope to pass. There was a line of telegraph 
along each of the diverging railroads. We could de¬ 
stroy but one of these, and it was certain that as soon 
as Fuller and his friends arrived at Dalton and told 
their story, warning would be sent ahead of us by the 
other road. This will explain what some accounts 
have left doubtful,—our neglect to cut the wire imme¬ 
diately after leaving Dalton. It made no practical dif¬ 
ference to us whether the fatal message was sent directly 
to Chattanooga and all intermediate stations, or whether 
it went by the way of Cleveland and Chattanooga and 
then back to the stations on our line. The distance was 
twice as great in thus telegraphing around two sides of 
a triangle, but this counted for nothing when lightning 
was the messenger. Our only resource was in the fact 
that we were now counting nearly as many miles as 


A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE. 


Ill 


minutes, and that we might be far on our way towards 
Chattanooga, and possibly have some bridges burned, 
before preparation could be made for stopping us. As 
a last resource, we now fully expected to have to take 
to the woods on foot. 

Fuller well knew the decisive advantage he would 
have at Dalton. As he neared that station he wrote 
the following dispatch and gave it to the young operator 
he had taken up at Calhoun, with instructions to put it 
through to Chattanooga, both ways, with the least pos¬ 
sible delay. It proves—if it were not afterwards writ¬ 
ten from memory and unconsciously modified—how 
correctly he had already estimated the character of the 
men he was chasing. This sagacity is scarcely less 
wonderful than the daring with which he encountered 
and overcame so many obstacles. 

fuller’s telegram. 

“To General Leadbetter, Commander at Chattanooga: 

“ My train was captured this a.m. at Big Shanty, evidently by 
Federal soldiers in disguise. They are making rapidly for Chat¬ 
tanooga, possibly with the idea of burning the railroad bridges 
in their rear. If I do not capture them in the mean time see that 
they do not pass Chattanooga. 

“William A. Fuller.” 

Two miles above Dalton we stopped and obstructed 
the track, and once more cut the telegraph wire. The 
latter was of slight importance, but Wilson and others 
urged it upon Andrews, and he did not wish to dis¬ 
courage them by telling them that it was now useless. 
But the removal of a rail might have been of more 
value by giving us time for burning some of the bridges, 
which are very numerous on this part of the road. 
This stop was made in plain sight of a Confederate 
regiment commanded by a Colonel Glen. The work to 
be done, however, demanded too much speed for us to 
apprehend their interference. But before the rail could 
be more than loosened, the pursuers, who had halted at 


112 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


Dalton for even a shorter time than we had, were upon 
ns again, and we once more mounted our engine and 
sped onward. The telegram was sent ahead by this 
line as well as the other a minute or two before the 
wire was severed. It created a terrible excitement in 
Chattanooga, but did us no real damage. Both the 
pursuing trains were near us when we entered the great 
tunnel north of Dalton. Our supply of cross-ties was 
unfortunately exhausted, or they might have proved 
very serviceable in the darkness. In fearful proximity 
and with unabated speed the tunnel was passed. Mur¬ 
phy declares that he was quite relieved when he saw by 
the gleam of light ahead that our engine was passing 
on, for he had quite made up his mind that we would 
attack them or drive our engine back upon them in the 
darkness. But no such plan had entered our thoughts. 
We would far have preferred a fight in open day. 

We now resolved to play what had been reserved as 
our last card. Running more slowly to economize fuel, 
—though a high velocity was still maintained,—we tried 
to light a fire in our only remaining car. It was al¬ 
ready open at both ends, and now as much of the sides 
and top as could possibly be obtained was also torn off 
and prepared for fuel. The attempt to light these 
splinters by matches did not succeed, for the wind 
caused by the rapid motion blew them out. Fire was 
then brought back from the engine, but this seemed to 
smoulder rather than burn, for the rain, which fell in 
torrents, blew through the unprotected car, and all the 
boards were soaking wet. Never did kindling a fire 
seem so difficult. When at length it fairly caught, and 
began to burn briskly, our dampened hopes began to 
brighten in sympathy with it. Might it not be that 
onr persistent struggle against ill-fortune was to win 
the victory even yet ? Just then a long covered bridge 
was approached, which it was desirable on every ac¬ 
count to burn. All of our party, whom the heat had 
not already driven forward, were ordered into the nearly 


A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE. 


113 


empty tender, and the car was uncoupled in the middle 
of the bridge. We did not leave it hastily, but stopped 
near the farther end of the bridge to watch the result in 
breathless anxiety. We had scarcely halted when the 
black smoke of the nearest pursuer was seen, and he 
bore down upon us at full speed. We were very loth 
to leave our position. We could see that the flame was 
rising higher, but could also see that the enemy’s train 
had a large number of men on board, some of whom 
had firearms. Oh, what would we not have given for 
a few of the muskets we had left in camp, to have held 
our position for even a few minutes, or even one min¬ 
ute ! But our situation was too unfavorable to allow 
more than a momentary thought of resistance. At long 
range we were virtually unarmed. But we lingered 
still, until we saw the enemy pushing our blazing car 
before them over the bridge; then, being in reach of 
their firearms, and but poorly protected in our engine 
and tender, we again sought safety in flight. They 
pushed the blazing car before them to the first side 
track, which happened not to be far away, and then 
left it to burn at its leisure. Thus our forlorn hope 
expired. 

But not all of the adventurers were willing to accept 
defeat even yet. A halt was made—the last—for the 
sake of again obstructing the track, and getting a few 
sticks of wood that lay near the track to replenish the 
waning fire of our engine. Some of the number, from 
the force of habit more than anything else, began tq 
take up a rail. The writer then suggested to Andrews 
a simple plan, which, at this late hour, still offered a 
glimmering hope. Could we throw the pursuers off 
the track, we might burn a few bridges yet, though the 
most important had been left behind us, and we could 
no longer hope to run our engine through Chatta¬ 
nooga. This attempt would have been more full of 
peril than any other of the day, with the possible ex¬ 
ception of the first seizure of the train; but its success 
h 10 * 


114 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


would have turned the tables on our enemies over¬ 
whelmingly. With sufficient promptness and despera¬ 
tion it might have succeeded, while its failure would 
only have ended a hopeless struggle, exchanging certain 
and immediate death for whatever faint chances of escape 
might otherwise remain after the train was abandoned. 
There had been many hints on the part of the soldiers 
that we were running away from the enemy too many 
times, and that it would be better to fight, but this was 
the first definite proposal. The suggestion was to use 
our remaining fuel in once more running out of sight 
of the enemy, then, selecting a place for ambuscade in 
the low, thick-set bushes that frequently came close to 
the road, to obstruct the track in our usual manner. 
When this was done, all of us, except one of the en¬ 
gineers, could hide, in such a position as to be abreast 
of the enemy when he stopped to remove the obstruc¬ 
tions. Our own engineer could wait until the pursuers 
were in sight, and then start off as usual, but slowly, 
so as to keep their attention fixed upon his train. We 
had several times noticed how, in the case of an ob¬ 
struction, the Confederates had checked their headlong 
career, sprang to the ground even before the train had 
stopped fully, and worked furiously at clearing the 
track. This would be our opportunity for rushing 
forth. We could shoot down all who were on the 
engine or the ground, while one of our reserve en¬ 
gineers sprang on the engine and threw it back at full 
speed, jumping off as it started. The result could 
scarcely have failed to be a fatal collision with the 
next pursuing train, which was never far behind. 
Then we would have been free from pursuit, and left 
only to reckon with the forces ahead. The place and 
manner of leaving the train could then have been 
selected at our leisure. We afterwards learned that 
no preparation had been made to receive us farther 
south than Boyce’s Station, some three miles from 
Chattanooga. There a strong military force had been 


A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE. 


115 


posted, the track torn up, and cannon planted. But 
we would never have ventured so near Chattanooga 
after knowing that a message had been sent ahead of 
us at Dalton. Our original hope had been to get so 
far ahead of all pursuit as to pass Chattanooga before 
the pursuers had reached Dalton. Then the junction 
of roads at the latter point would not have been an 
embarrassment to us, as will be made clear by a refer¬ 
ence to the map. 

Andrews said that the plan, of which a hint was 
given in a few rapid words, was good and worth trying. 
But the one great defect in his character as a leader 
came to the surface in this emergency. This was a dis¬ 
position to turn everything carefully over in his mind 
before deciding. There was no time for reflection now. 
The Confederate whistle sounded, and our men, with¬ 
out waiting for the word of command, so accustomed 
had they become to this manoeuvre, mounted the en¬ 
gine and sped away. Andrews bitterly regretted after¬ 
wards that this last expedient was not tried. With this 
exception, I do not know of anything more that could 
have been devised, beyond what we actually attempted. 

One object only could now be attained by clinging 
longer to the train, the speedy abandonment of which 
was inevitable. Andrews wished to shorten the dis¬ 
tance to our own lines as much as possible, so that the 
slender chance of escaping through the woods and 
mountains might be increased. It was far easier to 
travel on the engine than to run or skulk through the 
country on foot. It was better to continue this mode 
of locomotion as long as possible, or until we were 
carried as near Chattanooga as it was prudent to ven¬ 
ture. The old lightning rate of running could not be 
maintained, but we were still moving swiftly. The 
engine was in a bad state,*aud really incapable of much 
further service. The fuel, too, was gone. For some 
time we had been reduced to the fragments that had 
been torn off the cars before they were dropped, and to 


116 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


what we had gathered up along the roadside. Now all 
that remained of a combustible character was crowded 
into the fire-box for the last. pull. Andrews had 
always kept with him from the time we first met him 
at the midnight consultation a mysterious and well- 
filled pair of saddle-bags. These, of which he had been 
very careful, and which were supposed to contain im¬ 
portant and compromising documents, were now added 
to the fire. It was a signal, if any were needed, that 
the time had now come to prepare for the worst. An¬ 
drews and three others—Brown, Knight, and Alfred 
Wilson—were now on the engine, and the remaining 
sixteen were huddled together on the tender. At no 
time since the writer had proposed attacking the pur¬ 
suing train had he been in a position to urge the at¬ 
tempt on Andrews, and it was now too late. But an¬ 
other decision was arrived at on the engine against 
which some of us on the tender would have protested 
with all our energy had the opportunity been offered. 
Alfred Wilson, whose opinion was directly opposite to 
that of George D. Wilson and the writer, says,— 

“A few minutes before we came to the final halt, Andrews, 
Brown, Knight, and myself hastily discussed as to the best thing 
to be done, and it was concluded that the best course was to sep¬ 
arate and scatter in all directions.” 

This fatal decision arose from two causes. Andrews, 
with all his courage, never rightly valued fighting men. 
He preferred accomplishing his objects by stratagem 
and in secrecy rather than by open force. It was simply 
wonderful that in all the exigencies of this expedition 
no one of his soldiers had been permitted to fire a single 
shot, or even to draw a revolver upon the enemy. He 
now considered that when scattered each one, as well as 
himself, would be able to find concealment, or if cap¬ 
tured, to evade detection by false stories. This was a 
great mistake. The second reason for adopting this 
fatal course was the belief that the scattering of the 


A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE. 


117 


party would also scatter pursuit, and make it less eager 
in any one direction. Under ordinary circumstances 
such would have been the result. But the terror and 
the fierce resentment aroused by the daring character 
of our enterprise caused the whole country to burst 
into a blaze of excitement, and the pursuit to be 
pushed with equal energy for scores of miles in every 
direction. 

An opposite course would have been far more hope¬ 
ful. We were but twelve or fifteen miles from Chat¬ 
tanooga. Twenty miles of travel to the northwest 
would have placed us on the opposite bank of the Ten¬ 
nessee River, among the loyal mountaineers of the dis¬ 
trict. If we had remained together we could have 
traversed that broken and wooded country which lay 
before us as rapidly as any pursuing soldiers. No 
body of citizens not perfectly organized and armed 
would have ventured to halt us. Cavalry pursuit away 
from the main roads was impossible. Besides, one of 
our party possessed a pocket-compass, and two others, 
besides Andrews, were somewhat acquainted with the 
country. The writer is convinced that we might have 
left the cars in a body, and without even attempting 
concealment, but only avoiding the public roads, have 
hurried directly towards MitcheFs lines, and within 
forty-eight hours have been safe in his camp. 

But we can neither wonder at nor blame the mistake 
made by our leader on this occasion, though it led to 
months of wretchedness and the death of many of the 
party. Andrews had met each new emergency with 
heroic calmness and unfailing resources; but he was 
now physically exhausted. He had been engaged in 
the most intense and harassing labor for many days, 
being without sleep for the past thirty hours and with¬ 
out food for twenty. An error in action was therefore 
most natural and excusable, even if it disagreed with 
the course which had been marked out in calmer mo¬ 
ments. Wilson says,— 


118 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


“ Andrews now told us all that it was ‘every man for him¬ 
self that we must scatter and do the best we could to escape to 
the Federal lines.” 

This, then, was the formal dissolution of the expe¬ 
dition by the order of its leader. When we were 
brought together again under widely different circum¬ 
stances, we were simply a collection of soldiers, and 
while we respected the judgment and advice of An¬ 
drews, we no longer considered that we owed him mil¬ 
itary obedience. 

As Conductor Fuller now disappears from our story, 
where he has been so conspicuous, and where his en¬ 
ergy, skill, and daring shine in such brilliant colors, a 
few words may be appropriately devoted to his work 
and subsequent history. All the evidence goes to show 
that the Confederacy had no other available man who 
could have saved the bridges on the Western and At¬ 
lantic Railroad that day. With the exception of him¬ 
self and his two companions, who were in a sense sub¬ 
ordinate to him, though their services were of very 
high value, no other person seemed capable of planning 
or doing anything whatever. With a conductor of less 
energy in the place of this man, the probabilities are 
that we would have had the whole day uninterruptedly 
for the accomplishment of our task. But for Fuller’s 
daring and perseverance the extra trains would have 
but added to the number of wrecks along the line as 
one after another ran upon the places where the track 
had been torn up; while the burning of the bridges 
and the loss of telegraphic communications would have 
diffused a universal panic. 

The Legislature of Georgia gave Fuller a vote of 
thanks for his brilliant services, and instructed the gov¬ 
ernor to bestow upon him a gold medal; but, as he 
laughingly said years after, “ Gold was so scarce in the 
South that it was hard to find enough for a medal. It 
was therefore postponed for a time, and then came the 
final collapse of the Confederacy, and I got nothing.” 


A TERRIBLE RAILROAD CHASE . 


119 


The Confederate authorities gave him the rank of cap¬ 
tain by brevet. Of course, the Federal government 
could not recognize services rendered against itself of 
however striking character. No one of the adventur¬ 
ers ever expressed any malice towards Conductor Fuller, 
believing that he simply did what he regarded as his 
duty. He retained his place as conductor until the 
whole road passed under th£ control of General Sher¬ 
man, when he enlisted in thd 1 army. After seeing con¬ 
siderable military service, he was directed by the Con¬ 
federate government to take charge of the rolling-stock 
of the Western and Atlantic Railroad, and keep it out 
of the hands of the Federals. He removed it to 
various parts of Georgia and South Carolina as the 
exigencies of the win* and the narrowing territory of 
the Confederacy required. Finally, when the suprem¬ 
acy of the Union was restored, he brought it back to 
Atlanta and surrendered it to Federal authority. He 
afterwards resumed his place as conductor on the same 
road, and remained in that situation until 1875, when 
he located as a merchant in Atlanta. Here for many 
years he delighted in talking over this day of wild 
adventure. 

Of his two companions, Cain continued for more 
than twenty years as an engineer on the same road, 
while Murphy built up a prosperous business as a 
lumberman in Atlanta. 


120 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


CHAPTER VII. 

A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 

Many persons, on lieaifng an account of this unpar¬ 
alleled chase, have suggested one expedient by which 
they imagine the fugitive Federals might have de¬ 
stroyed their enemy and accomplished their own pur¬ 
pose. “ Why did you not,” they say, “ reverse your 
own engine and then jump from it, thus allowing it to 
knock the pursuing train from the track?” There 
were good reasons against that course. Such critics 
might as well ask a man who has ascended half-way 
up out of a well in a bucket why he does not cut the 
rope over his head for the sake of crushing somebody 
at the bottom of the well. That engine was the basis 
of all our hopes, and we could not think of abandoning 
it until the direst extremity. At the last moment, 
however, this attempt to reverse the engine for the 
purpose of securing a collision was made. This final 
effort was unavailing. The steam power was so nearly 
exhausted that the locomotive moved backward very 
slowly, and accomplished nothing beyond delaying the 
pursuit on foot for a very few moments. The pursuing 
train had no difficulty in also reversing and running 
back a little way until the captured engine came to a 
dead standstill. Indeed, the hard service of the engine 
had very nearly destroyed it, even before we thus flung 
it back at the enemy. A Confederate account says, 
u Their rapid running and inattention to their engine 
had melted all the brass from their journals.” Wilson 
is still more graphic,— 

“I could liken her condition to nothing else than the last 
struggles of a faithful horse, whose heartless master has driven 


A NIGHT IN TIIE WOODS. 


121 


and lashed him until he is gasping for breath, and literally dying 
in the harness. The powerful machine had carried us safely for 
more than a hundred miles, some of the time at a rate of speed 
appalling to contemplate, but she was becoming helpless and use¬ 
less in our service. She was shaken loose in every joint, at least 
she seemed so; the brass on her journals and boxes was melted 
by the heat; her great steel tires were almost red-hot, while she 
smoked and sizzled at every joint. Our race was almost run.” 

We are not able to give an account of the time occu¬ 
pied by us in the different parts of this long and fearful 
race. The general impression of a frightful rate of speed 
is, however, fully borne out by one fact, which rests on 
the authority of the engineer of the “ Texas,” and I am 
not sure that this simple statement is not more elo¬ 
quent than the most vivid word-pictures of our chase. 
It is simply that he ran the distance of fifty and one- 
half miles, made all the stops at stations for explana¬ 
tions and reinforcements, as well as to remove obstruc¬ 
tions and to switch off the cars we dropped, in the 
space of sixty-jive minutes . This calm and definite 
statement, which I have never heard disputed, implies 
an average velocity, when in motion, of not less than a 
mile per minute ! That such a speed could be attained 
upon a crooked road, laid with old iron rails, and with 
the utmost efforts of an enemy in front to obstruct the 
track, seems little less than miraculous. 

But to return to the direct story. When the final 
and fatal command to disperse was given, the soldiers, 
still obedient to orders, jumped off, one by one, and 
ran, either singly or in small groups, towards the shel¬ 
ter of the woods. The greater number fled in a western 
direction. 

No time was lost by the enemy in organizing a most 
vigorous pursuit. This would have had little terrors 
if conducted only by the men on the pursuing trains. 
Some of these did join in it, but their part was insig¬ 
nificant. In an incredibly short space of time the 
whole country was aroused. The telegraph, no longer 
disabled, flashed alarm in every direction. Horsemen 


122 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


scoured at full speed along every highway, shouting 
their exaggerated stories to every passing traveller and 
to every house and village. The whole population for 
scores of miles on every side of Chattanooga seemed to 
have abandoned every other occupation, and devoted 
themselves exclusively to the work of hunting the fugi¬ 
tive Union soldiers. Each ferry and cross-road was 
picketed, while armed bands explored the sides of every 
mountain, and searched out every valley. The people, 
or at least the great part of those who thus engaged in 
this terrible man-hunt in the woods, were not novices 
in the work, and employed the most efficient agencies. 
The dark institution of slavery rendered the work of 
hunting do\Vn fugitive men very familiar. One of the 
points in which there is a strange conflict of testimony 
between Northern and Southern witnesses is in relation 
to the employment of blood-hounds in the pursuit of 
Union soldiers, especially when endeavoring to escape 
from prison. The writer wishes to be perfectly candid 
in this story, and can imagine one explanation of this 
discrepancy. Possibly the cause of the dispute is to be 
found in the use of the word “ blood-hound.” The 
pure-blooded Spanish blood-hound, a ferocious and ter¬ 
rible beast, is comparatively rare in the Southern States. 
But hounds, which were used for tracking men, and 
some of which were very large and fierce, were very 
common. To a poor man, whether white or black, fly¬ 
ing for his life through some lonely woods, who hears, 
through the darkness of the night, the baying of a pack 
of hounds on his track, and knows that their fangs will 
soon be fixed in his flesh, it is little comfort to reflect 
that the deadly beasts are probably only mongrels and 
not of the pure Spanish breed! Hounds were freely 
employed in searching for the members of our party, 
and we felt our blood chill with horror as we listened 
to their baying. Escape by concealment for any con¬ 
siderable length of time was scarcely possible. Rapid 
flight over the roughest part of the country was the 


A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 


123 


only alternative, and this was far from hopeful. The 
adventurers were so widely dispersed that no collective 
narrative of their perilous wanderings is practicable. 
Yet many circumstances were common to all the mem¬ 
bers of the party. The drenching rain, which contin¬ 
ued to fall, added greatly to our discomfort, and was at 
once a help and a hindrance. It rendered the tracking 
dogs much less efficient, and frequently threw them off 
the track altogether, but prevented us from travelling 
by the sun and stars; and, as we had no other guide, the 
flight of the greater number became a mere aimless wan¬ 
dering through the woods,—sometimes even in a circle. 
The endurance of indescribable suffering from cold, 
hunger, and fatigue was also an experience common to 
all who eluded capture for any considerable period. 
The expectation of a violent death immediately on 
capture and detection was shared by all. The only 
mode of giving an adequate impression of this painful 
but deeply interesting part of the history will be to 
narrate with some detail the adventures of a few of 
those groups, which will best serve as specimens of all. 
I offer my own experience first; not that it is more in¬ 
teresting than others,—indeed, it is greatly surpassed in 
number and variety of adventures by the narratives of 
Dorsey and Wilson,—but because it is easier to tell my 
own experience,—that strange weird period of hunting 
in the woods and mountains of Georgia, in which I 
was the game,—a period which stands out alone in 
memory separated from all former and after life! 

On leaving the train the writer was alone, and for a 
moment his heart sank within him. No one happened 
to strike off in the same direction, and, although some 
of the fugitives might have been overtaken or fallen in 
with, yet the wish was strong to accompany the same 
band who had been associated on the southward journey. 
In looking for these the opportunity of going with any 
of the other adventurers was lost. Indeed, I hardly 
wished to have any other companions, as the remainder 


124 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


were comparative strangers, and their trustworthiness 
had not yet been thoroughly approved. At that time 
I knew nothing of the locality in which I found my¬ 
self,—whether it was fifteen or fifty miles from Chatta¬ 
nooga,—nor had I the most indefinite idea of the char¬ 
acter of the country. I only knew that our army and 
territory lay north or northwest; but as the sun did 
not shine, I had no means of determining the points of 
the compass. 

The train was still moving when I jumped off,—fast 
enough to make me perform several inconvenient gyra¬ 
tions on reaching the ground. As soon as I could 
stand firmly I looked about for a moment, and endeav¬ 
ored to grasp the situation and determine what to do. 
I had not anticipated that the train would be abandoned 
and we dispersed in the woods; but, on the contrary, 
had relied on being under the orders of a leader until 
we should succeed or perish. Now I was thrown en¬ 
tirely on my own resources, without even a conscious 
reliance on the protection of God. I cannot recall even 
breathing a prayer in this trying moment. Yet, in a 
dim way, I did feel that I was not utterly forsaken. 
One glance round the horizon—a swift balancing of 
the few elements of the problem that were within my 
reach—and then hurried flight was all time permitted. 
Most of my comrades were in advance of me. Three 
of them had taken the eastern side of the railroad, the 
remainder the opposite side. In my judgment the latter 
was best, and, following their example, I soon reached 
the cover of stunted pines that grew near. Feeling the 
necessity of getting some start before the enemy could 
arrange for pursuit, I continued to run at right angles 
away from the railroad. A little brook that ran par¬ 
allel to the railroad was soon passed, and I pressed on 
up the long, steep, and open slope of a hill on its oppo¬ 
site side, llunning up-hill was too severe to be main¬ 
tained long, and I was obliged to drop into a walk in 
plain view of the enemy. Each step was fatiguing, 


A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 


125 


and my limbs seemed made of lead. This greatly aug¬ 
mented my fears. It was more like trying to run 
away from danger in a nightmare than any waking 
sensation. I saw three of my comrades not far away 
on the left, and, urging my failing strength to the 
utmost, tried to overtake them, but in vain. This was 
a great disappointment, for I dreaded solitude above all 
things, and wanted the support of sympathy. I knew 
that pursuit would be rapid and instantaneous, and 
could hear shouts from the pursuing trains, which had 
now reached the spot and were discharging a host of 
enemies. Every breeze that sighed through the branches 
of the naked forest sounded like the trampling of cav¬ 
alry. 

The country was rough and uneven. On the bottoms 
and by the streams, as well as on the steep mountains, 
were a few pines; but on the slopes and tops of the 
hills, which here are a low continuation of the Cumber¬ 
land range, the timber is mostly of oak and other 
varieties, which were not then in foliage. This was a 
great disadvantage, because it left no hiding-place and 
exposed us to the watchful eyes of our enemies. 

As I struggled up the hill-side the sense of faintness 
and exhaustion passed away, and with strength hope came 
again. Nothing in this chase seems stranger than the 
manner in which my strength ebbed and flowed. When 
seemingly utterly powerless, without rest, food, or sleep, 
vigor came back again on more than one occasion, and 
the new supply would last for hours. My more rapid 
pace soon carried me over the hill-top and down to the 
bend of a little river, which I subsequently learned 
was the Chickamauga,—the witness, afterwards, of one 
of the most desperate battles of the war, It was then 
swollen by the continuous rains, and for some time I 
searched along its banks in vain for a crossing-place. 
Believing that death was behind, I finally committed 
myself to the turbulent stream, and succeeded in getting 
over, but only to find that before me the bank rose in 


126 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


an almost perpendicular precipice of shelving rock not 
less than one hundred feet in height. I dared not re¬ 
cross the stream, for I knew the enemy could not be 
far behind, and 1 therefore clambered up the precipice. 
Several times, when near the top, did I feel my grasp 
giving way, but as often some bush or projecting rock 
afforded me the means of saving myself. While thus 
swinging up the bare rocks, I could not help thinking 
what a fine mark I presented if any of the enemy, with 
guns, should happen to arrive on the opposite bank! 
At last, after imminent danger, I reached the top, again 
utterly exhausted, pulled myself out of sight, and sank 
down to breathe for a while. 

I had been without breakfast or dinner, and had 
spent not only that day but many preceding ones in 
the most fatiguing exertion. Enemies were on every 
side. There was no guide even in the direction of home, 
for the sun still lingered behind an impenetrable veil. 

While musing on this unenviable situation in which 
I found myself, a dreadful sound brought me to my 
feet and sent the blood leaping wildly through my 
veins. It was the distant baying of a blood-hound! A 
moment’s reflection would have made it certain that in 
the existing state of Southern customs dogs would have 
been used to track fugitives in the woods. It was a 
mere every-day incident of slavery. But this consider¬ 
ation brought no comfort. Alone in the woods of 
Georgia, the horror of being hunted with dogs was in¬ 
describable. 

A few moments’ listening confirmed my worst fears. 
They were after us with their blood-liounds! not one 
pack alone, but all in the country, as the widening 
circle from which their dismal baying echoed revealed 
but too plainly. There was no longer safety in idle¬ 
ness. Yet the fearful sound was not without use in 
supplying a guide to flight, and I am now convinced 
that throughout the whole chase the dogs were of more 
real service to us than to our pursuers, as they rendered 


A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 


127 


a surprise less probable. But none the less did they 
add to the repulsiveness and terror of our position. 

Away across the hills and streams I sped, I know 
not how far,—I only know that the noise of the dogs 
grew fainter as the evening wore on. I had distanced 
them and began to breathe more freely. I even in¬ 
dulged the hope of being able to work my way ulti¬ 
mately to the Federal lines. Had the clouds per¬ 
mitted travelling by the sun and stars, this hope might 
have been realized. 

As I descended the long slope of a wooded hill into 
a solitary valley, I saw a rude hut, with a man working 
in a cultivated patch beside it. Believing that he could 
not yet have heard of our adventure, I determined to risk 
something in order to get information. I also felt sure 
that one man could not arrest me. Approaching, I asked 
the road to Chattanooga, and the distance. He pointed 
the way, and told me that it was eight miles. Adding 
this information to the general knowledge I had of the 
geography of that district, it gave me some notion of my 
whereabouts. I did not wish to get any nearer the 
rebel town, as I rightly judged that in its vicinity pur¬ 
suit would be most vigorous, but I continued my 
journey in that direction until out of sight, when I 
climbed the hill at right angles to my former course. 
This course was maintained for some hours, when an 
incident occurred which would have been amusing but 
for the fearful perils environing me. 

I had often heard of lost persons travelling in a circle, 
but never gave much credit to such stories. Now, I 
had the proof of their credibility. I believe philoso¬ 
phers explain the phenomenon hy saying that one side 
of the body has a little more vigor than the other, and 
that when we have no guide to direct us, the stronger 
side (usually the right), by its tendency to go ahead of 
the other side, gradually turns us in the opposite direc¬ 
tion. In other words, the right foot outwalks the left, 
and thus, like a carriage-horse swifter than its mate in 


128 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


a driverless team, can only describe perpetual circles 
until the will-power again takes hold of the reins. But 
at this time I had never heard of such theories, and the 
following experiences presented themselves to my mind 
as an inexplicable and terrifying fatality. 

I had crossed a road and left it for something like an 
hour, during which time I walked very fast, when to 
my surprise I came to the same place again. I was 
considerably annoyed thus to lose my labor, but struck 
over the hill in what I now supposed to be the right 
direction. Judge of my astonishment and alarm when, 
after an hour or more of hard walking, I found myself 
again at precisely the same spot! So much time had 
been lost that the barking of the dogs now sounded 
very loud and near. I was perplexed beyond meas¬ 
ure and seemingly hopelessly entangled. A few steps 
brought me to a stream that was recognized as having 
been crossed hours before. In sheer desperation I 
took the first road that appeared, and followed it almost 
regardless of where it led or who was met. Previously 
I had kept away from the roads, and sought the most 
secluded route. But the risk of meeting any tangible 
enemy was preferable to being the sport of that bewil¬ 
dering chance which seemed to be drifting me around 
in a remorseless whirlpool. 

Thus I pressed forward till the rainy, dreary even¬ 
ing deepened into night. I recall no thoughts of 
prayer, no feeling of dependence upon an infinite 
mercy beyond the clouds. All the memory I have of 
mental processes is that there was a fixed, iron-like re¬ 
solve to use every power of body and mind to escape, 
and in perfect calmness to await the result. I intended 
to do all in my own power for safety and then perish, 
if it must be so, with the feeling that I was not re¬ 
sponsible for it. The reader, a little farther on, will 
find that this feeling was so powerful that I did not 
shrink from any sacrifice of truth, or even from enlist¬ 
ment in the rebel army. For me the stake was life or 


4 


A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 


129 


death. I would win if my power could by any means 
be stretched so far; if not, I would pay the forfeit 
when I must. 

It was not perfectly dark, for there was a moon be¬ 
yond the clouds, and, as I heard a wagon approaching, 
I stepped to the bushes beside the road and accosted 
the driver. His voice assured me that he was a negro, 
and I made bold to get from him as much information 
as possible. Words cannot describe the flood of dis¬ 
appointment, vexation, and anger that swept over my 
bosom when I found I was within four miles of Chat¬ 
tanooga,—that town which I regarded as the lion’s 
mouth! So far as I had a plan it was to leave this 
place far to my right, and strike the Tennessee River 
twelve or fifteen miles farther down-stream. I hoped 
to do this, and to cross over the river by floating on 
some dry branch of a tree before morning. If the stars 
came out, so that I could travel a straight course, this 
hope was not unreasonable. But near Chattanooga, 
however, all the river would be watched and the coun¬ 
try around strictly patrolled. But if discouraged by 
the manner in which I seemed attracted towards the 
rebel headquarters, despair was useless; so, learning the 
direction both of Ringgold and Chattanooga from the 
negro, who, like all of his color, was ready to do any¬ 
thing for fugitives, with whom he had a fellow-feeling 
(though I did not make my true character known to 
him), I pressed forward through the rain and mud. 
As the road did not lead in the right direction, I again 
travelled in the fields and woods. 

For some time I felt sure of having the right course 
in my head and hurried on. But when I had crossed 
a large field of deadened timber I was completely lost. 
Soon, however, I reached a road which seemed to lead 
right, and followed it with renewed vigor for several 
miles. At length I met three men on horseback. It 
was too dark to tell whether they were negroes or white 
men, but I ventured to ask them,— 


130 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


“ How far is it to Chattanooga ?” 

“ Three miles !” 

“ Is this the right road ?” 

“ Yes, sah, right ahead/’ 

These, probably, were men sent out to search for the 
railroad adventurers, and they did not try to arrest me 
because I had accosted them so boldly and was going 
directly towards Chattanooga. 

But it was evident I was again on the wrong road. 
Indeed, so hopelessly bewildered was I that it seemed 
impossible to travel any but the wrong road. As soon 
as the horsemen were out of sight I turned and fol¬ 
lowed them three or four miles, until I came to a large 
road running at right angles with my own, which ter¬ 
minated where it entered the other. I deliberated some 
time as to which end of this new road I should take. 
These mountain-roads are fearfully crooked, and the 
one I had been travelling bent too often to give me the 
direction even of the dreaded Chattanooga. 

Many a time had I wished for a sight of the moon 
and stars. Long before the clash of arms had been 
heard in our peaceful land, before the thunder of battle 
had filled a nation with weeping, astronomy had been 
my favorite study, and I had often longed for the part¬ 
ing of the clouds, that, with my telescope, I might gaze 
on the wonders of the world above. But never did I 
bend so anxious an eye to the darkened firmament as 
in my solitary wanderings over the Georgia hills that 
memorable night. All in vain! No North Star ap¬ 
peared to point with beam of hope to the land of the 
free! 

But at length I made choice, and, as usual, on this 
night chose wrong. After I had gone a long distance 
the moon did for a moment break through a rift in the 
clouds and pour her welcome light down on the dark 
forest through which I was passing. That one glance 
was enough to show me that I was heading towards the 
railroad I had left in the morning. Even then the 


A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 131 

light was a compensation for all the disappointment, 
but in a moment it withdrew and the rain fell again in 
torrents. Wearily I turned and retraced my tedious 
steps, hoping in vain for another glimpse of the moon. 

One of my feet had been injured by an accident three 
months before, and now pained me exceedingly. Still 
I dragged myself along. My nerves had become ex¬ 
hausted by the long-continued tension they had en¬ 
dured, and now played me many fantastic tricks, which 
became more marked as the night wore on. I passed 
the place where the wrong choice of roads had been 
made, and still toiled ahead. 

I was thinly clad, and as the wind, which had risen 
and was now blowing quite hard, drove the falling 
showers against me, my teeth chattered with the 
piercing cold. I passed many houses, and feared the 
barking of the dogs might betray me to watchers 
within; but my fears were groundless. The storm, 
which was then howling fearfully through the trees, 
served to keep most of those who would have sought 
my life within-doors. For a time I seemed to have 
the lonely, fearful, stormy night to myself. 

At last all thoughts gave way to the imperative need 
of rest. I reeled to a large log not far from the road, 
on the edge of a small patch of woodland, and crawl¬ 
ing close under the side of it, not so much for shelter 
from the driving rain as for concealment from my worse 
dreaded human foes, I slept in peace. 

Up to the time of this profound and dreamless sleep 
the incidents of that terrible night are graven on my 
memory as with a pen of fire. But after waking I| 
found a marvellous change, and the next experience of 
the night floats in memory with all the voluptuous 
splendor of an opium-dream. Had I been at all dis¬ 
posed to superstition, I would have had room enough 
to indulge it. A rational view of religion would have 
enabled me to recognize the manner in which a Mer¬ 
ciful Father interposed to relieve my sufferings,—an 


132 CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 

interposition not less real or effective because, as I 
still believe, purely natural. But at that time I was 
indisposed to admit other than the material explanation. 
The want of sleep, fatigue, dampness, hunger, and in¬ 
tense mental tension were enough to cause a mild species 
of delirium. But the character of this was surely ex¬ 
traordinary, affecting as it did the senses and imagina¬ 
tion only, and leaving the reason and will altogether 
untouched. I was as rational—as able to plan, and far 
more able to execute, during this singular psychological 
experience than before. But let me narrate facts and 
leave the reader to his own explanations. 

I cannot tell how long sleep continued, but I wakened 
perfectly in an instant, and with a full realization of 
my position. But, in addition to this, I seemed to hear 
some person whisper, as plainly as ever I heard a human 
voice,— 

“ Shoot him! shoot him! Let us shoot him before 
he wakes!” 

My first impression was that a party of rebels had 
discovered me in my hiding-place, and that my last 
moment on earth had come. But the uext thought 
brought a new suspicion, and I cautiously opened my 
eyes to see if my senses were really playing me false. 

Directly before me stood a bush or small tree. The 
first glance showed me a tree and nothing more. The 
next glance revealed a score of angels, all clad in lovely 
robes, that melted into the softest outlines, their heads 
nodding under feathery plumes above all beauty, and 
their wings, bordered with violet and pearl, slowly 
waving with indescribable grace. As my eye wan¬ 
dered farther, the whole grove was transformed into a 
radiant paradise, in which moved celestial beings of 
every order, all instinct with life and blushing with 
love. There were rose bowers, and ladies fairer than 
mortal, and little cherubs floating around on cloudlets 
of amber and gold. Indeed, all that I had ever seen, 
read, or imagined of beauty was comprised in that one 


A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 


133 


gorgeous vision. It was very singular, and of this I 
can give no explanation, except the will of God, that no 
hideous, terrible, or even ugly image was seen. That 
there were not visions of blood-hounds, chains, and 
scaffolds, or other forms of terror, seemingly more ap¬ 
propriate to my condition, is unaccountable, so far as I 
know, on any theory save that of heavenly grace, and, 
personally, I wish for no better. It was also singular 
that though the brain and eye were thus impressed with 
ideal existences, I was perfectly calm and self-possessed, 
knowing the whole thing to be but a pleasing illusion. 
I had no fear of these figures of the brain, but, on the 
contrary, found them excellent company. They did 
not always personate the same characters. Occasion¬ 
ally they would change to the old feudal knights, ar¬ 
rayed in glittering armor. The finest landscapes would 
start up from the cold wet hills around, like mirages in 
the desert. Panoramas of the most vivid action passed 
before me, and the ear joined the eye in the work of 
pleasing illusion, for even language was not denied to 
my visitants, whose voices were inexpressibly melodi¬ 
ous, and even very sweet music was occasionally heard. 

Not less remarkable was the renewal of strength I 
felt. To walk or run was no longer a burden. To say 
that I was perfectly refreshed is altogether an inad¬ 
equate expression. I seemed to have supernatural 
strength, and to be incapable of any weariness or dis¬ 
agreeable sensation whatever. Even the merciless pelt¬ 
ing of the cold rain was pleasant and delightful! I 
was perfectly easy and peaceful in mind, feeling no fear, 
though perfectly conscious of my real situation and peril, 
and retaining the full force of the resolve to use every 
exertion for escape. 

While night and darkness were thus changed into 
visions of beauty and joy around me, another faculty 
penetrated beyond these highly-colored illusions, and 
showed me, though in faint lines, the true face of the 
country and of events. Yet I had no hesitation in 


134 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


controlling my conduct with respect to the faint rather 
than the bright pictures, and was only once, for a few 
minutes, deceived, and then by supposing the real to be 
fictitious. The error very nearly involved me in a 
serious difficulty. At a cross-road, I saw from a dis¬ 
tance what I supposed, at first, to be a group of my 
spectral friends standing around a fire, the ruddy blaze 
of which rendered them clearly visible. They were 
not so beautiful as former figures, but I advanced un¬ 
suspectingly towards them, and would probably have 
continued until too late for retreat had not my progress 
been arrested by a sound of all others least romantic,— 
the squealing of a pig! The men around the fire had 
caught the animal, and were killing it preparatory to 
roasting it in the fire! This immediately drove away 
the seraphs and the angels! I listened, and became 
convinced that they were a picket sent out to watch for 
just such travellers as myself. Some dogs were with 
them, but these were, fortunately, too much absorbed 
in the dying agonies of the pig to give attention to me. 

I crawled cautiously away, and made a long circuit 
through the fields. A dog from a farm-house made 
himself exceedingly annoying by following and bark¬ 
ing after me. I did not apprehend danger from him, 
for I had managed to keep my trusty revolver dry all 
this time, but I feared he would attract the attention of 
the picket. 

When he left me I returned to the road, but came 
to three horses hobbled down, which, no doubt, belonged 
to the picket behind, and had to make another circuit 
to avoid driving them before me. Then I pressed on, 
hoping that some good chance, if not providence, might 
bring me to the steep banks of the Tennessee. Yet I 
w T as not sanguine, for the country was more open and 
level than I expected to find in the vicinity of the 
river. Very many miles—possibly a score, or even 
more, for my pace was rapid—were passed in this 
manner, but at last my visions began to fade. I was 


A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 


135 


sorry to see them go, for they seemed like a good omen, 
and they had been cheerful companions. When the 
last form of beauty disappeared the chill horror of my 
situation froze into my veins; my strange strength also 
passed gradually away. I would find myself stagger¬ 
ing along almost asleep,—would wander a short distance 
from the road to a secluded spot, throw myself on the 
flooded ground, and be instantly asleep,—then, in a few 
moments, awaken, almost drowned by the pitiless rain, 
and so weary, cold, and benumbed that I could scarcely 
rise and plod onward. 

Thus the latter part of that dreary night wore on. 
It seemed an age of horror, and places a shuddering 
gulf between my present life and the past. At length 
the cold gray dawn of a clouded morning broke through 
the weeping sky. Day brought no relief. I had not 
yet any guide, and had not stumbled on the Tennessee. 
I feared to make inquiries. Every one I saw seemed 
a foe. Still, I did not avoid them, or leave the road 
for any great distance. Slowly a new plan formed 
itself in my mind, for, if the rain and clouds continued, 
I despaired of working my way to our lines. What 
this plan was will appear in due time. It will be 
enough to say here that I did not now think a capture 
would be fatal, if once far enough away from the place 
where the train was abandoned, to plausibly deny all 
knowledge of that raid. I hardly thought it possible 
that I could endure another day and night alone in 
the woods. To prepare for all emergencies, I carefully 
washed all traces of that terrible night from my clothes. 
The wet would not matter, for the falling rain accounted 
perfectly for that. 

It was Sabbath morning, but it came not to me with 
the blessed calmness and peace that accompany it in my 
own far-off Ohio. I realized how sweet those Sabbath 
hours and Sabbath privileges had been, which I had 
never valued before. I saw the people going to church, 
and longed to go with them. Of course this was impossi- 


136 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


ble, but with the thought came more of a feeling of 
worship and of desire for God’s protection than I had 
ever known before. In that hour I believe His blessed 
Spirit was calling me; but I soon turned my mind in 
another direction, preferring to plan for my own de¬ 
liverance, and to arrange the stories I would tell if ar¬ 
rested, or if I ventured to any house for food, as would 
soon be necessary. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

IN THE ENEMY’S POWER. 

But I will dwell no longer on the miseries of this 
dreary morning. Its hours went tediously by, marked 
by no special incidents till about noon. Just beyond 
Lafayette, Georgia, I was observed by some one on the 
watch for strangers. A party of pursuit numbering 
twenty or thirty was at once organized. I knew noth¬ 
ing of my danger till they were within fifty yards, 
when I heard them calling for me to stop. 

A single glance showed my helplessness. I laid my 
hand instinctively on my revolver, but knew that fight 
was useless. Neither was flight possible. The country 
was open and I was too weary to run, even if some of 
the party had not been mounted and others armed with 
rifles and shot-guns. It was time to see what could be 
made of my plans carefully contrived for just such an 
emergency. Therefore, making a virtue of necessity, I 
turned round and demanded what they wanted, though 
I knew only too well. They said courteously enough 
that they wanted to talk with me awhile. Soon they 
came up, and a brisk little man who had the epaulets 
of a lieutenant, but whom they called “ Major,” began 
to ask questions. He was very bland, and apologized 



IN THE ENEMY’S POWER. 


137 


profusely for interrupting me, but said if I was a patri¬ 
otic man (as he had no doubt I was) I would willingly 
undergo a slight inconvenience for the good of the 
Confederacy. I endeavored to emulate his politeness, 
begging him to proceed in the; performance of his duty, 
and assuring him that he would find nothing wrong. 
He searched me very closely for papers, and examined 
my money and pistol, but found no ground for sus¬ 
picion. 

He next asked me who I was, where I came from, 
and where I was going. I expected all these questions 
in about that order, and answered them categorically. 
I told him I was a citizen of Kentucky, of Fleming 
County, who had become disgusted with the tyranny 
of the Lincoln government, and was ready to fight 
against it; that I came to Chattanooga, but would not 
enlist there because most of the troops were conscripts, 
and the few volunteers very poorly armed. I told him 
where I had lodged in Chattanooga, and many things 
about the troops there, using all the knowledge I had 
acquired, of that character while riding on the cars to 
Marietta the preceding Friday. I had also heard many 
words of praise spoken of the First Georgia Regiment, 
and now told the major that I wished to join that 
noble organization. This flattered his State pride, but 
he asked me one question more,—why I had not gone 
directly to Corinth, where the First Georgia was, with¬ 
out coming to Lafayette, which was far out of the way. 
The question conveyed much information, as I did not 
before know that I was near Lafayette, or out of the 
road from Chattanooga to Corinth. I answered as well 
as I could by alleging that General Mitchel was said to 
be at Huntsville, and that I was making a circuit around 
to avoid the danger of falling into his hands. 

This seemed to be perfectly satisfactory to the little 
man, and, turning to the attentive crowd, he said,— 

“ We may as well let this fellow go on, for he seems 
to be all right.” 


12 * 


138 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


I was greatly rejoiced at these words, and cast about 
in my own mind to see if I could not gain something 
more before passing on the way. But my joy was 
premature. A dark-complexioned man on horseback, 
with his hat drawn over his brows, looked slowly up 
and drawled out,— 

u Well, y-e-s! Perhaps we’d as well take him back 
to town, and if it’s all right, maybe we can help him 
on to Corinth.” 

This was rather more help than I wanted, but there 
was no help for it. Besides, I reasoned that if I could 
keep on good terms with this party, I could get infor¬ 
mation and aid that would be invaluable towards my 
final escape. Nothing could really suit me much better 
than actually to be forwarded to Corinth and enlisted 
in the First Georgia. I knew the ordeal of question¬ 
ing before that course was determined on would be very 
trying, but did not despair. If I could only have had 
some food and a few hours’ rest! 

They conducted me to the largest hotel of the place, 
where I was received with much ceremony, but they 
neglected to order dinner. I could have had drink 
enough, but was too prudent to touch it, even if I had 
not always been a teetotaler. Soon all the lawyers 
came in,—Lafayette is a county-seat,—and they all had 
liberty to question me. For four mortal hours, as I 
could see by a clock in the room, I conversed with 
them and answered questions. We talked of every¬ 
thing, and their questions grew more and more pointed. 
I answered as well as I could, and never let an oppor¬ 
tunity pass to put in a question in turn, for it was much 
easier and less perilous to ask than answer. When I 
told, them I was from Kentucky, they wished to know 
the county. I told them Fleming. They asked after 
the county-seat. This also I could give. But when 
they asked after adjoining counties I was sorely per¬ 
plexed. One of them said it was singular a man could 
not bound his own county. I asked how many of them 


IN THE ENEMY'S POWER. 


139 


could bound the county we then were in. This ques¬ 
tion had a double purpose,—to gain time and informa¬ 
tion. They mentioned several and fell into a dispute, 
to settle which a map had to be produced. I got a 
look at it also,—a mere glance, for it was soon out of 
reach of my eager gaze; but I had seen much. Then 
they requested a narrative of my journey all the way 
from Kentucky. This I gave very easily and in great 
detail as long as it was on ground not accessible to my 
inquisitors. I told the truth as far as that would not 
be compromising, and then pieced out with inventions. 
The time I had spent on the train and in the woods 
were hardest to arrange for. I had to invent families 
with whom I had lodged; tell the number of children 
and servants at each place, with all kinds of particulars. 
I knew not how many of my auditors might be familiar 
with the country I was thus fancifully populating, and 
was careful not to know too much. I plead forgetful¬ 
ness as often as that plea was plausible, but it would not 
do to use it too often. I might have refused to answer 
any question, but this would have been a tacit admis¬ 
sion of some kind of guilt,—at least as good as a mob 
would have required. I might safely use any retorts 
and sharpness in conversation,— and I did talk with 
perfect freedom,—but I had the feeling that silence 
would have brought me in danger of the lash and the 
rope. Can the reader conceive of any situation more 
critical and perilous: starving and almost fainting from 
weariness, in the midst of a growing tavern crowd, 
questioned by acute lawyers, and obliged to keep every 
faculty on the alert, feeling that an incautious answer 
would probably lead to an instant and frightful death, 
and compelled under such pressure to tell falsehood 
after falsehood in unending succession ? 

But I had an increasing hope if my endurance con¬ 
tinued to the end. At supper-time I meant to boldly 
demand food, and I felt sure of getting it. Besides, 
although they were clear that I was a suspicious char- 


340 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


acter, they did not seem in any way to connect me with 
the great railroad expedition,—the only identification I 
feared. The very fact that I was so far away from the 
point where the train was abandoned was in my favor. 
Temporary confinement, enlistment in the army, any¬ 
thing they were likely to do was without terror as long 
as I was not connected with the daring adventure 
which had culminated the day before. They were 
somewhat perplexed by the assurance with which I 
spoke, and held numerous private consultations, only 
agreeing that the case needed further investigation. 

Matters were in this position when a man, riding a 
horse covered with foam, dashed up to the door. He 
came from Ringgold and brought the news—of deeper 
interest to me than to any one else—that several of the 
bridge-burners had been taken near the place where 
they abandoned the train. When first apprehended 
they claimed to be citizens of Kentucky, from 
Fleming County; but on finding that this did not 
procure their release, they confessed being Ohio soldiers, 
sent by General Mitchel to burn the bridges on the 
Georgia State Railroad! 

I have no reason to believe that any of those who 
were captured described their companions, or gave any 
information leading intentionally to their discovery. 
This was not needed. The unfortunate telling of the 
same fictitious story and the subsequent revelation of 
their true character on the part of some of the number 
who were captured close to the abandoned train, un¬ 
masked the others as well. After the first captures, 
which were made Saturday afternoon, whenever a fugi¬ 
tive was arrested who hailed from Fleming County , 
Kentucky , and was not able to prove his innocence, he 
was at once set down as a member of the railroad 
party. 

The message from Ringgold ended all uncertainty in 
my own case. I was at once conducted, under strict 
guard, to the county jail. 


IN THE ENEMY'S POWER. 


141 


The little major was my escort. He took advantage 
of his position to purloin my money, and then turned 
me over to the county jailer. That personage took my 
penknife and other little articles of property, then led 
me up-stairs, unfastened a door to the right, which led 
into a large room with barred windows, and having a 
cage, made of crossing iron bars, in the centre. He 
unlocked the small but heavy iron door of the cage 
and bade me enter. For the first time in my life I was 
to be locked in jail! My reflections could not have 
been more gloomy if the celebrated inscription had 
been written over the cage that Dante placed above the 
gate of hell, “ All hope abandon, ye who enter here.” 

There did seem absolutely no hope for me. * I was 
there as a criminal, and I knew that life was held too 
cheaply in the South for my captors to be fastidious 
about disposing of an unknown stranger. I had heard 
the message from Ringgold, and at once comprehended 
its bearing against me. Nothing save a confession of 
my true character as a soldier and my real business in 
the South would be credited. The probability was that 
even this would only make my doom the more speedy. 

In that hour my most distressing thoughts were of 
the friends at home, and especially of my mother,— 
thinking what would be their sorrow when they heard 
of my ignominious fate,— if, indeed, they ever heard, 
for I had given “ John Thompson” instead of my own 
name. That all my young hopes and ambitions, my 
fond dreams of being useful, should perish, as I then 
had no doubt they would, on a Southern scaffold, 
seemed utterly unbearable. But one moment only did 
these thoughts sweep over me; the next they were re¬ 
jected by a strong effort of the will as worse than use¬ 
less, and were followed by a sense of unutterable 
relief, for I could now rest. I had found a refuge even 
in prison, and needed no longer to keep every failing 
faculty at the utmost tension. The sweetness of rest 
for the moment overcame every other feeling save 


142 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


hunger, and that, too, was soon satisfied. The jailer 
brought some coarse food, which was devoured with 
exceeding relish. There was another prisoner in the 
same cage,—probably a detective, put in for the pur¬ 
pose of gaining my confidence and leading me to a con¬ 
fession. His first step was to plead ill health as an 
excuse for not eating his share of the prison food. I 
excused him, and ate his allowance as well as my own 
without difficulty. 

He then wished to talk, and asked me some ques¬ 
tions, but I was in no mood for further conversation. 
Being cold I borrowed his prison blankets, of which he 
had a plentiful supply, and, wrapping myself up in 
them, soon sank into a deep sleep—profound and 
dreamless—such as only extreme fatigue can produce. 
The quaint advice contained in the last words of my 
companion, however, lingered in my memory. Said 
he,— 

“ If you are innocent of the charge they make against 
you, there is no hope for you. You are much worse 
off than if you are guilty, for they will hang you on 
suspicion, while, if you are a soldier, you can tell what 
regiment you belong to, and claim protection as a 
United States prisoner of war.” 

My sleep lasted until long after dawn of the next 
morning. This repose, with the breakfast which fol¬ 
lowed, completely restored my strength, and with the 
elasticity of youth I began to revolve my situation and 
plan for the future. I was not long left in loneliness. 
The people of the village and surrounding country 
came in throngs to see a man who was supposed to be¬ 
long to the daring band of engine thieves,—one of the 
most common names by which our party was recog¬ 
nized during our imprisonment. They were very free 
in their criticisms of my appearance, and some were very 
insulting in their remarks. But I would not allow my¬ 
self to be drawn into conversation with them, for I had 
a momentous question to decide in my own mind. 


IN THE ENEMY'S POWER . 


143 


The more I thought of the advice of my fellow- 
prisoner the more weighty did it appear. I did not 
value it because it was his opinion, but because it 
seemed reasonable. I also longed to assume my true 
name once more and my position as a soldier. The 
thought of perishing obscurely and in disguise was 
most revolting. Besides, I felt that a soldier had more' 
chances of life than a suspected wanderer. Our gov - 1 
eminent might put forth energetic efforts to save those 
who were in such deadly peril. I remembered, with 
increasing hope, that the Federals, at this very time, 
held a number of rebel prisoners in Missouri, who had 
been captured while disguised in Federal uniform in¬ 
side of our lines, engaged in an attempt very similar to 
our own,—the burning of some railroad bridges. Why 
might not these be held as hostages to assure our safety, 
or even exchanged for us ? To entitle me to any help 
from our government I must be William Pittenger, of 
the Second Ohio Volunteer Infantry, and not John 
Thompson, of Kentucky. My mind was soon made 
up,—the more readily that I heard my citizen visitors 
talking about the capture of several others of our 
party, who had all admitted that they were United 
States soldiers. They were influenced, no doubt, by 
the same course of reasoning that I have indicated. I 
believe this decision ultimately saved my life. 

But there was room for choice as to the manner of 
making my confession. I told the jailer that I had an 
important communication for the authorities, and he re¬ 
ported the matter to some person of influence, who sum¬ 
moned a vigilance committee, and ordered me before it. 

I found them prepared to renew the examination of 
the previous day. They had the same lawyers in wait¬ 
ing, and, indeed, all the principal men of the town. 
When their preliminaries were over, they asked the 
nature of the communication I wished to make, and 
hoped that I could throw some light on the mysterious 
capture of the railroad train. I said,— 


144 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


“ Gentlemen, the statements I made yesterday were 
intended to deceive.” (“ So we suspected,” said one 
of the lawyers, sotto voce.) “ I will now tell you the 
truth.” 

The clerk got his pen ready to take down the infor¬ 
mation, and the roomful of people assumed an attitude 
of deepest attention. 

“ Go on, sir; go on,” said the president. 

“Iam ready,” said I, “ to give my true name, and 
the division and regiment of the United States army 
to which I belong, and to tell why I came so far into 
your country.” 

“Just what we want to know, sir. Go on,” said 
they. 

“ But,” I returned, “ I will make no statement what¬ 
ever until taken before the regular military authority 
of this department.” 

Their disappointment and surprise at this announce¬ 
ment were almost amusing. Curiosity was raised to 
the highest pitch, and did not like to postpone its grati¬ 
fication. They employed every threat and argument 
in their power to make me change my decision,—some 
of them saying that I should be hanged to the nearest 
tree if I did not. But I knew my ground. I told 
them that though an enemy I was a soldier, possessed 
of important military information, and, if they were 
loyal to their cause, it was their duty to take me at 
once before some regular military authority. The lead¬ 
ing men admitted the justice of this view, and when 
they found that I would reveal nothing there, they 
made arrangements to take me to Chattanooga. This 
was distant about twenty miles from Lafayette. Bing- 
gold, near which we abandoned the train, was about the 
same distance to the east. In that long and terrible 
night of wandering I had travelled twenty miles in a 
straight line, and, with my meanderings, must have 
walked more than fifty. 

My reason for postponing my confession until reach- 


IN THE ENEMrS POWER. 


145 


ing Chattanooga was that I wanted to get out of the 
hands of the mob as soon as possible. There was no 
body of soldiers or responsible authority in Lafayette. 
If I had perished there no one, in any contingency, 
could have been called to account for it. Where a de¬ 
partment commander was stationed I would have to 
reckon with him alone, which was far preferable, and 
I counted on the curiosity of the mob to preserve me 
as long as my secret was not revealed. 

I was remanded to the jail to wait for the prepara¬ 
tion of a suitable escort. After dinner about a dozen 
men entered my room, and guarded me out to the 
public square. There a carriage was waiting, in which 
I was placed, and then commenced the complicated 
process of tying and chaining. 

By this time a great mob had gathered, completely 
filling the square, and in the most angry and excited 
condition. Borne persons questioned me in loud and 
imperious tones, demanding why I came down there to 
fight them, and adding every possible word of insult. 
I heard many significant hints about getting ropes, and 
the folly of taking me to Chattanooga when I could be 
hanged just as well there. 

For a little time I made no answer to any question, 
and paid as little attention as possible to w’hat was said. 
But the tumult increased, and the mob grew so violent 
in its denunciations that I feared a passive policy would 
no longer serve. Though I was being very effectually 
bound, my tongue was still at liberty. I had no ex¬ 
perience in managing mobs, but I felt, by a kind of 
instinct, that mobs and dogs are very similar,—neither 
likes to attack a person who quietly and good-humor¬ 
edly faces them. I had proved this with savage dogs 
several times for mere sport, but this was a more seri¬ 
ous matter. I was not much in the humor of talking, 
but it was better to be led by policy than by inclina¬ 
tion. Selecting, therefore, some of the nearest persons, 
I spoke to them. They answered with curses, but in 
G k 13 


146 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


the very act of cursing they grew milder and more 
willing to converse. I answered their innuendoes cheer¬ 
fully, jesting, whenever opportunity offered, about the 
manner I was being secured, the bracelets they were 
giving me, the care they had for a “ Yankee,” as they 
persisted in calling me, and tried to look and speak as 
if the whole matter were a mere comedy. I soon got 
some of the laughers on my side, and before long had 
the satisfaction of hearing one man say, regretfully, 
“ Pity he is a Yankee, for he seems to be a good fel¬ 
low,” and another agree to the sentiment. Yet I was 
not sorry to hear the driver announce that we were 
now ready to start. 

The manner in which I was tied indicated that my 
captors intended to “ make assurance doubly sure, and 
take a bond of fate.” One end of a heavy chain was 
put around my neck, and fastened there with a pad¬ 
lock; the other end was passed behind the carriage- 
seat, and hitched to my foot in the same manner, the 
chain being extended to its full length while I was in 
a sitting position, thus rendering it impossible for me 
to rise. My hands were tied together, my elbows were 
pinioned to my sides by ropes, and, to crown all, I was 
firmly bound to the carriage-seat, while two horsemen, 
armed with pistols and carbines, followed the carriage 
at a short distance, and my evil genius, the little major, 
took the seat beside me, likewise armed to the teeth. I 
ought to have felt secure, but did not. The same ex¬ 
aggerated caution was often noticed afterwards. 

As we left Lafayette behind, the sky, which had 
been clouded for days, suddenly cleared. The sun 
shone in beauty, and smiled on the first faint dawnings 
of spring that lay in tender green on the surrounding 
hills. What would I not have given for such a day 
forty-eight hours earlier! But even then it was very 
welcome, and my spirit grew more light as I breathed 
the fresh air and listened to the singing of the birds. 

My companions were quite talkative, and I responded 


IN THE ENEMY'S POWER . 


147 


as well as I could. They even tried to make me think 
that the extraordinary manner in which I was tied and 
guarded—with which I reproached them—was a com¬ 
pliment, showing that they had formed a high opinion 
of my daring character! Their conversation was pleas¬ 
ant and courteous enough, except that when they passed 
houses they would cry out, “ We’ve got a live Yankee 
here!” Then men, women, and children would rush 
to the door, staring as if they saw some great monster, 
and asking,— 

“ Whar did you ketch him ? Gom* to hang him 
when you get him to Chattanooga ?” and similar ex¬ 
pressions without number. 

I cared little for this at first, but its perpetual recur¬ 
rence was not without its effect in making me think 
that they really would hang me. In fact, my pros¬ 
pects were far from encouraging; yet I considered it 
my duty to keep up my spirits and hold despair at 
arm’s length while any possible ground for hope re¬ 
mained. The afternoon wore slowly away as we jour¬ 
neyed amid grand and romantic scenery that in any 
other circumstances would have been enthusiastically 
enjoyed. But now my thoughts were otherwise en- 
gaged. 

I was not so much afraid of death in itself as of the 
manner in which it was likely to come. Death amid 
the smoke and excitement and glory of battle never had 
seemed half so terrible as it now did when it stood, an 
awful spectre, beside the gallows! And even sadder 
it was to think of friends who would count the weary 
months, waiting and longing for my return, till hope 
became torturing suspense, and suspense deepened into 
despair. These and kindred thoughts were almost too 
much for my fortitude; yet, setting my teeth hard, I 
resolved to endure patiently to the end. 

The sun went down, and night came on,—deep, 
calm, and clear. One by one the stars twinkled into 
light. I gazed upon their beauty with new feelings, 


148 CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 

as I wondered whether a few more suns might not set 
me free from the short story of earthly things and make 
me a dweller beyond the sky. A spirit of prayer 
and the faint beginnings of trust stirred within me. 
Hitherto I had been looking at passing events alone, 
and refusing to contemplate the great new experiences 
death would open. But now my thoughts took a new 
direction. God was helping me, and inclining my 
heart upward. I was to pass through many more ter¬ 
rible scenes and taste bitter sorrows before 1 could rec¬ 
ognize His voice and fully repose on His love. I was 
not then a member of church nor a professor of re¬ 
ligion. I believed the doctrines of Christianity, and 
purposed some day to give them practical attention. It 
had been easy to postpone this purpose, and, latterly, 
the confusion and bustle of camp-life had almost driven 
the subject out of my mind. But now God appeared 
very near, and, even amid foes and dangers, I seemed 
to have hold of some hand, firm but kind, beyond the 
reach of vision. What influence was most powerful in 
turning my thoughts upward I cannot tell,—whether 
it was the familiar outlines of the grand constellations, 
the quiet and stillness all around, so congenial to ex¬ 
hausted nature after the excitement of the last few days, 
or a yet more direct message from the Highest,—I 
only know that the memory of that evening, when I 
was carried, chained, down the long hill to the valley 
in which Chattanooga lies, there to meet an unknown 
fate, is one of the sweetest of my life. My babbling 
guards had subsided into silence, and, as we wended 
along through the gathering darkness, high and noble 
thoughts of the destiny of man filled my breast, and 
death appeared only a mere incident of existence,—the 
gate out of one department of being into another. I 
was nerved for any fate. 

It may be thought strange that in these moments of 
reflection and spiritual yearning I had no feeling of re¬ 
morse for any of the deceptions of which I had been 


IN THE ENEMFS POWER. 


149 


guilty. But I had not. It did not even occur to me 
to consider them as sins at all. If necessary or expe¬ 
dient I would then have added to them the sanction 
of an oath with equal recklessness. Some sophistry— 
felt rather than reasoned out—about the lawfulness of 
deceiving or injuring public enemies or rebels in any 
possible way—a conviction that they had forfeited 
everything, even their right to be told truth—must 
have controlled me. Before starting on this expedition 
I had placed the highest value on truth, and would 
have regarded a wilful lie with scorn and loathing. 
But I accepted deception as one of the incidents of the 
enterprise, and all sense of its wrongfulness passed 
away, and did not return until long afterwards. 

We arrived at Chattanooga while a feeble glow of 
the soft spring twilight.lingered in the air. The head¬ 
quarters of General Lead better, then district com¬ 
mander, was in one of the principal hotels of the town, 
and we at once drove there. I was left in the carriage 
while the major ascended to inform him of the arrival. 

The town had already been informed. The curiosity 
to see one of the men who had captured the train and 
frightened the women and children of Chattanooga 
into the woods only two days before was intense, and a 
very large crowd soon assembled. They behaved as 
such assemblages usually did, jeering and hooting, and 
calling me by every epithet of reproach the language 
afforded,—wanting to know why I came down there to 
burn their property and murder them and their children 
as well as free their negroes. To these multitudinous 
questions and assertions I made po answer, I was 
much amused (afterward!) by their criticism^ of my 
appearance. One would say that it vyas a pity so 
young and clever-looking a man should be caught in 
such a scrape.” Another, of more penetrating cast, 
“ could tell that he was a rogue by his looks,—probably 
came out of prison in his own country.” Another was 
surprised that I could hold up my head and look around 
13* 


150 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


on honest men, arguing that such brazen effrontery in 
one so young was a proof of enormous depravity of 
heart. I gave no opinion on the subject. Indeed, I 
was not asked. 

There was one man I noticed in particular. He was 
tall and venerable-looking; had gray hair, gray beard, 
a magnificent forehead, and, altogether, a command¬ 
ing and intellectual expression. He was treated with 
marked deference by the throng, and as they parted 
and allowed him to come up to my carriage, the thought 
arose, “ Surely I will receive some sympathy from that 
kind and noble-looking man.” 

His first question confirmed my hope. Said he,— 

“ How old are you ?” 

I answered, “ Twenty-two, sir.” 

Gradually his lip wreathed itself into a curl of un¬ 
utterable scorn, and, gazing steadily on me, he slowly 
uttered,— 

“ Poor young fool! And I suppose you were a 
school-teacher or something of that kind in your own 
land! And you thought you would come down here 
and rob us, and burn our houses, and murder us, did 
you ? Now let me give you a little advice : if you ever 
get home again, (but you never will!) do try, for God’s 
sake, and have a little better sense and stay there.” 
Then he turned contemptuously on his heel and strode 
away. The rabble rewarded him with a cheer. I 
could never find out who he was; but after that I 
looked for no more sympathy in that crowd. 

My conductor now returned and escorted me into the 
presence of General Leadbetter. I was glad of the 
change, though there was little about this man to in¬ 
spire confidence. They said he was from the North 
originally,—a native of Maine, I believe. His habits 
were so intemperate that a Confederate captain after¬ 
wards informed me that he always lived in one of two 
states,—either dead drunk or gentlemanly drunk. His 
record was, even this early in the war, of a very ill 


IN THE ENEMY’S POWER, 151 

character, for he had been the principal agent in hang¬ 
ing a considerable number of East Tennessee Union 
men under circumstances of great barbarity*. To this, 
it was said, he owed his present position. Such was 
the man in whose hands my fate now rested. 

All the facts concerning him I learned afterwards, 
except one that was apparent when I entered the room. 
He was considerably under the influence of liquor, 
though not to an extent which interfered with the 
transaction of business. He began to question me, and 
without any regard for truth I gave him the story that 
I supposed would be best for my own interest. I told 
him I was a United States soldier, giving my name, 
company, and regiment correctly; but told him I was 
sent on this expedition without my previous consent, 
and was ignorant of where I was going or what I was 
to do, which I only learned as fast as it was to be ex¬ 
ecuted. He next inquired who was our engineer, but 
I refused to tell. I afterwards found that they were 
exceedingly anxious to discover the name of the person 
who ran our train, imagining him to be some official 
connected with the Georgia State Railroad. He then 
asked after the purpose of the expedition. I pleaded 
ignorance as far as any positive information went; but 
as this did not satisfy him, I gave him my inferences. 
There was no betrayal of Union interests in this, for 
all I told him was what any thoughtful person, map 
in hand, would have supposed,—the destruction of 
bridges and the capture of Chattanooga and the occu¬ 
pation of East Tennessee. He was very attentive, and 
said,— 

“ But has Mitchel men enough for all that ? My 
spies report that he has not more than ten thousand 
infantry and three regiments of cavalry.” 

This was so near the truth that I did not wish to 
confirm it. So I took another departure from accuracy, 
and said,— 

“ That must refer only to his advance-guard, and 


152 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


leaves out of account that part of his command which 
has not yet left Nashville.” 

“ What!” he returned, “ is there a reserve army ?” 

I assured him there was, and that with the regiments 
on their way from the West and Northwest, sixty or 
seventy thousand men would be at Nashville for 
Mitchel’s disposal in three or four weeks! 

Leadbetter then asked, “ What do you soldiers think 
is going to be done with such a large army ?” 

a We are confident,” I answered, “that Chattanooga 
will first be captured, then Atlanta, and afterwards 
Mitchel may probably strike for some point on the 
coast, so as to cut the Confederacy in halves.” 

The general rubbed his forehead for a moment, then 
exclaimed,— 

“ It’s a grand plan. They can do it if they have 
men enough. But I had no idea that Mitchel had 
such backing.” 

How I did wish that he had! but I knew better. 

Then wheeling his chair directly in front, and fixing 
his eye steadily on me, he continued,— 

“ I am much obliged to you for this information. 
Now, sir, I want you to tell me just how many men 
you had on that train, and to describe each one so that 
I may know them when I get hold of them.” 

This was too much ! I answered, “ General, I have 
freely told you whatever concerns only myself, because 
I thought you ought to know that I am a soldier under 
the protection of the United States government. But 
I am not base enough to describe my comrades.” 

“ Oh!” sneered he, “ I don’t know that I ought to 
have asked you that.” 

“ I think not, sir,” I replied. 

“ Well,” retorted he, “you need not be so particular. 
I know all about it. Your leader’s name is Andrews. 
What kind of a man is he ?” 

I was thunderstruck! How should lie have An¬ 
drews’ name, and know him to be our leader? I 


OTHER CAPTURES. 


153 


never imagined what I afterwards found to be the true 
cause,—that Andrews had been captured, with docu¬ 
ments iu his possession which implicated him so com¬ 
pletely that he acknowledged his name and the fact 
of his leadership. I had every confidence that he, at 
least, would escape and devise some means for our re¬ 
lief. So I answered boldly,— 

“ I can tell you only one thing about him, and that 
is, he is a man you will never catch.” 

As I said this I thought I noticed a peculiar smile 
on the general’s face, but he only replied,— 

“ That will do for youand turning to a captain 
who stood by, continued: “ Take him to the hole,—you 
know where that is.” 

With a military salute, the captain took me out of 
the room. There was an explanation of the general’s 
smile! Before the door, heavily ironed, stood An¬ 
drews, waiting for an audience, and with him Marion 
Ross and John Wollam. I did not think it prudent 
to recognize them, nor they to recognize me, so we 
passed each other as strangers. 


CHAPTER IX. 

OTHER CAPTURES. 

As all the members of our party were ultimately as¬ 
sembled at Chattanooga, so that from that time our 
stories flow together, it is now well to bring the sepa¬ 
rated threads of narration down to that point. One 
of the shortest and most lamentable was that of Jacob 
Parrot and Samuel Robinson, both of the Thirty-third 
Ohio Regiment. When they left the train in company 
they reached the woods, but on the wrong side of the 
road. After being concealed for a short time they 



154 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


came back to the railroad, but in attempting to cross 
it were observed by four citizens and captured. They 
were immediately conducted to Ringgold, where a com¬ 
pany of Confederate soldiers was stationed. A course 
of questioning here began, but Parrot refused to tell 
anything. He was but little over eighteen years of 
age, very boyish-looking, and entirely destitute of edu¬ 
cation. So they seem to have thought him a favorable 
subject for receiving the treatment applied to those fu¬ 
gitive slaves who hesitate in answering questions. He 
was taken out of the room by an officer and four men, 
who stripped him and, holding him down over a large 
stone, administered over one hundred lashes on his 
bare back, leaving scars which the writer has often 
seen, and which he will carry to his grave. Three 
times the whipping was suspended, the poor boy let up 
and asked if he was ready to confess, and on his refusal 
he was thrown down again, and the torture continued. 
They wished to force from him the name of the en¬ 
gineer and the particulars of the expedition. But all 
their efforts were in vain. The crowd procured a rope 
and were about to hang him, but an officer of higher 
rank came up and prevented this final barbarity. 

The wonderful fortitude of the poor boy was of no 
avail. He and his comrade were caught so near the 
place where they left the disabled engine, and they 
were so utterly unable to give any account of the man¬ 
ner in which they came to be there, that both would 
no doubt have perished if Robinson had not—after 
first trying the Fleming County, Kentucky, story, and 
being falsely informed that Parrot had confessed every¬ 
thing—finally given his name and regiment, with the 
general outline of the expedition. After this confes¬ 
sion they were imprisoned for a time in Ringgold, and 
afterwards brought to Chattanooga. 

D. A. Dorsey furnishes me an account of his adven¬ 
tures, which were in some respects peculiar. My own 
special friend, George D. Wilson, was with him, as well 


OTHER CAPTURES. 


155 


as William Bensinger and Robert Buffum. I use Dor¬ 
sey’s own graphic language,— 

“We fled from our broken down iron-horse in a northeasterly 
direction towards the adjacent hills. These were sparsely studded 
with timber, but almost entirely destitute of undergrowth, and, of 
course, aflorded but little opportunity to hide from our pursuers. 
The latter were following upon our trail, well armed and very 
numerous. Here occurred the first of many an amusing scene, 
such as often light up the most horrible situation. Buffum had 
worn a peculiar long gray coat, reaching nearly to his feet, of 
which he had been very proud. Now he found it a sore im¬ 
pediment to his precipitate flight, and unbuttoning it, ran right 
ont of it, leaving it spread out on the old dry weeds behind him, 
—not even stopping to get the bottle out of the pocket, in which 
he and I had been deeply interested for the past twenty-four 
hours. 

“ On we went, or rather flew, until we had distanced our pur¬ 
suers, and found ourselves in a denser forest. It was very cloudy. 
The sun was completely hidden, and we could not tell which was 
north, south, east, or west. We wandered on until near mid¬ 
night, when we came to a log hut in a small opening, surrounded 
by a dilapidated rail-fence. The light of a blazing fire shone 
through the cracks in the wall, and we walked to the door and 
knocked repeatedly. Getting no answer, Wilson pulled the 
latch-string and walked in. There a tall Georgian lay stretched 
at full length on the floor, with his bare feet to the fire, almost 
undressed, and suffering all the agonies of colic. Over him bent 
his better half, busily engaged in administering hot-ash poultices. 
Of course, under such circumstances, our application for food 
availed nothing, and we were obliged to plod on through the dark¬ 
ness, mud, and rain. Before morning we came to another cabin, 
which we did not enter, but borrowed a pail of milk from the 
porch, and taking it to the woods, speedily devoured it. Then 
we wandered on, hoping for clear sky, but the clouds were un¬ 
broken, and our wandering at random continued all the morning. 

“ About ten o’clock, in the forenoon, we saw some persons on 
horseback, who were evidently hunting for us. We managed to 
elude them, and getting back to ground they had passed over, 
concealed ourselves by lying down. Several other parties were 
seen, but by shifting our position we avoided them for some 
hours. The increasing number of our pursuers, however, con¬ 
vinced us that we were in the most deadly peril. 

“ * Oh, ye woods, spread your branches apace! 

To your deepest recesses I fly ; 

I would hide with the beasts of the chase, 

I would vanish from every eye. 


156 CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE . 


“‘ And hark ! and hark ! the deep-mouthed bark 
Comes nigher still and nigher. 

Burst oh the path a dark blood-hound, 

His tawny muzzle tracked the ground, 

And his red eye shot fire/ 

“ These words of the poet were fully echoed by my feelings. 
The much-dreaded blood-hound was upon our trail. We, dis¬ 
covered three of them descending a hill over which we had re¬ 
cently passed, right on our track, and four men behind them. 
As soon as the latter discovered us, one of their number hallooed, 
and was answered by shouts in every direction. This demon¬ 
strated that we were surrounded. We advanced and boldly met 
the first four, and endeavored to deceive them as to our real 
character. Our denials of being the men who captured the train 
the day before were all to no purpose. Soon we were surrounded 
by at least fifty men, armed with shot-guns, rifles, and pistols. 
One man carried a long rope. To say they were furious would 
be a mild description. They demanded, in all kinds of profane 
and vindictive language, our immediate surrender. We were 
separated into two squads. Buffum and Bensinger stood together, 
and did what they could to prove that they were victims of a 
case of mistaken identity, Wilson and I were a few yards distant, 
and, as he was the better talker, I left it all to him. He pro¬ 
tested that we were not the men they wanted, but citizens of 
Virginia hunting for fugitive slaves. He told a very nice and 
plausible story,—I thought it ought to have convinced any reason¬ 
able man,—but it was in vain.” 

[This was the only case, except one, so far as I know, 
where the Kentucky story was varied from, and even 
then Buifum and Bensinger were using it. Had Wil¬ 
son and Dorsey been alone they might have succeeded 
better. Dorsey continues: ] 

“We had to surrender or fight. The latter course would have 
been madness. We handed over our revolvers and pocket-knives 
on demand, and then commenced the most terrible threats of 
vengeance. A young blood, who appeared not more than six¬ 
teen, put a pistol at Wilson’s head, and would, no doubt, have 
shot him had he not been prevented by one they called ‘ major.’ 
A rough fellow they called ‘ Black Billy’ presented a double- 
barreled shot-gun to my breast, swore he had sixteen buckshot in 
each barrel, and unless I made a ‘ clean breast’ of it he would 
blow them all through me. This roused my indignation, and 
considering my life worth nothing if I confessed, while a con¬ 
fession might implicate others, I said, ‘ Gentlemen, we have sur¬ 
rendered, and you have our arms. We are in your power. If 
you want to shoot, just shoot!’ 


OTHER CAPTURES. 


157 


“ Throwing my breast forward, in full expectation of receiving 
the shot, I was surprised to see him drop the butt of his gun to 
the ground and make arrangements for tying our hands. Hav¬ 
ing thus secured us, they conducted us to a house about a mile 
away, and gave us a pretty good dinner. 

“Here we learned that a reward of one hundred dollars had 
been offered for each of the ‘engine thieves.’ We also learned 
that we were only nine miles from Ringgold, which convinced us 
that much of our travelling the night before must have been on 
the back track. We were certainty not as far from Ringgold when 
captured as we had been when the previous night set in. 

“After dinner we were taken to Ringgold on foot, and put into 
jail ,—the first one into which I had ever set my foot. It was 
Sunday, April 13, 1862. This same evening we were all re¬ 
moved by rail to Marietta, Georgia, where we arrived about 
midnight, and were there placed in a literal dungeon of the 
worst character,—dark, dreary, damp, and swarming with rats 
and smaller vermin. From this point we had started northward 
for the capture of the train two days before with high hopes. 
What adventures since that time! 

“We hoped when day dawned that there would be some light 
in this filthy hole, but we were disappointed, for, although we 
could distinguish the difference between day and night, yet not 
enough light entered this dismal place to enable us to recognize 
our most intimate friend I 

“A heavy guard of six hundred cadets was placed around us 
for the purpose of keeping down the mob. We were told that a 
whole company of rebel soldiers had left camp at Big Shanty to 
come to Marietta to lynch us, but were overtaken by their offi¬ 
cers wnen about haif-way to Marietta and dissuaded from so 
rash an act, the officers arguing that we were soldiers, and it 
would not do for them to thus violate the rules of war, and also 
assuring them that we would be property dealt with, and, in due 
time, executed. They thus succeeded in turning them back to 
camp. 

“ We remained here a whole day and two nights. On Tues¬ 
day we heard a strange noise,—a horrible clanking and rattling 
of chains, while a footstep was heard mounting the outside stair¬ 
case, which was the only one. Into the hall the jailer came (for 
it was he), and, opening the trap-door, ran a ladder down into 
our dungeon. Then he called Wilson up into the hall, and put 
one end of a new trace-chain round his neck, and locked it with 
a padlock, while he also placed a pair of handcuffs on his hands. 
I was then called, the other end of the trace-chain put around my 
neck, and my hands secured in the same manner. We were thus 
coupled together by the neck, as well as handcuffed. Bensinger 
and Buffum were used in the same way. Then Hawkins and Por¬ 
ter, of whose presence we had no previous knowledge, were called 
out, chained and ironed in the same manner. We were then 
conducted to a box-car, which had in it some bales of cotton, 

14 


158 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


and started northward. The sergeant in charge of us stopped the 
party at Dalton, and awaited the arrival of the officer in com¬ 
mand, who was to come on the next train. It was night, and, 
although our guard was as kind as they well could be under the 
circumstances, they had no means of feeding us. A mob sur¬ 
rounded the depot and threatened to hang us, hut the guards 
managed, not without serious difficulty, to keep them off. Here 
we had a most grateful surprise,—one of the few really pleasant 
incidents which mitigated the horrors of our experience. A few 
Dalton ladies, with their servants, came into the waiting-room, 
and supplied us with a first-class supper. We relished it hugely, 
for we had been altogether without dinner, and our breakfast was 
of the scantiest character. This was the first meal we had ever 
eaten with chains and irons upon us, and, as the reader may 
judge, we felt and acted very awkwardly ■with these useless 
appendages. The ladies who had been so bountiful, requested 
some of our party to stand up that they might have a good look 
at them. They complied, in pairs at a time, and, when the other 
four had passed inspection and resumed their seats, their little 
servant-boy came with the same request to Wilson and myself. 
Wilson very politely declined, instructing the boy to ‘ tell the 
ladies that we are not here on exhibition, but, if they will come 
over this way, we will be glad to see and talk with them.’ Thj 
offer was accepted, and two, a matron and young lady, appar¬ 
ently mother and daughter, came to our side of the room, and we 
had a conversation long to be remembered. They sympathized 
with us, aqd wept freely. With us the wound was too deep for 
tears. The ladies returned to the other part of the room when 
the conversation was ended, but took seats, and remained until 
the expected train arrived and we started for Chattanooga. All 
this time the mob was howling and cursing and threatening out¬ 
side, and we flatter ourselves that the ladies stayed to exert a re¬ 
straining influence, and hinder them from proceeding to extrem¬ 
ities. Before we left, the younger lady referred to sent the little 
hoy to me with a'pink rose , with one row of leaves around it, and 
her name. 

“The presentation of that rose seemed to exasperate those of 
the mob who saw it, and I am free to confess that I regretted 
the action, for at one time it seemed as if they would break in 
and seize us. But the firmness of the sergeant kept them back. 
I regret that I was so unchivalrous as to soon forget the name 
given, but in our circumstances who would try to remember a 
name, even that of a beautiful lady ? The only encouragement 
as to our prospects we had yet received was that our fate would 
be a warning to our comrades in arms, none of whom would 
venture to engage in such another foolhardy expedition. The 
flower served more to recall home and friends than to awaken 
hope of any availing friendship and help in that part of the 
country. It was twisted round and round between my closely- 
cuffed hands—for the cuffs I wore had no connecting links, and 


OTHER CAPTURES. 


159 


fitted very tight—until one by one the leaves all fell off, and 
when the last was gone I got Wilson to put the stem in my 
pocket, and kept it a long time. 

“We arrived at Chattanooga next morning. There was again 
the inevitable crowd to welcome us. ‘ Will those hounds hunt ?’ 
bawled out a coarse-voiced individual, as they led us by our neck- 
chains through the crowded street. 

“ The landlord of the hotel to which we were taken to await 
orders was a Union man, whom I have met since under very 
different circumstances. At his own expense, and on his own 
responsibility, he ordered his servants to bring us a good break¬ 
fast. We had by this time got on good terms with the clever 
guards who brought us from Marietta, and parted from them 
with real regret. They requested to have our names written in 
the little diaries many of them carried. Putting the book in 
one cuffed hand and the pencil in the other, they were amazed 
to see how well we could write under such circumstances. 

“ The next scene in our strange history was a terrible contrast 
to the peaceful occupation of eating a good breakfast and writing 
our names in diaries. We were marched to what our new con¬ 
ductor called ‘the hole.' From the upper room of a prison a 
ladder was put down through a trap-door, and we were ordered to 
descend into what I can only call hell , for it was that to us. The 
ladder drawn up, the trap-door again fallen, and now in the murky 
gloom came whispered recognitions from our comrades, the warm 
clasp of friendly but ironed hands. Andrews and all his men 
except two—Mark Wood and Alfred Wilson—were now gathered 
together.” 

It will be remembered that J. R. Porter and M. J. 
Hawkins were not on the captured train at all, but 
joined Dorsey and his comrades at Marietta. We 
abridge the account of their mishaps given by Porter: 

“ Through some mistake or negligence of the hotel waiter we 
were not called in time for the train” (on the morning of the 
capture), “ though we got to the depot in time to see it pass out 
of sight. I cannot describe my feelings at that moment. . . . 
We could hardly make up our minds how to meet the emergency. 

“ Then we leisurely strolled about the town, expecting every 
moment to hear of the capture of the train. Nor did we have 
to wait long, for the news soon reached town that a train had 
been captured at Big Shanty while the passengers and crew were 
at breakfast, and that it was done so quickly and easily that they 
could not imagine who did the deed or what it meant. Soon 
everything was wild with excitement and the town was thronged 
with excited rebels, waiting to hear further developments. . . . 
Hawkins and I concluded to ‘ skip out’ for a time. After reach- 


160 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


ing a piece of woods we came together and congratulated our¬ 
selves on our success thus far, but what to do next we hardly 
knew. . . . After much hesitation we determined to go to Big 
Shanty, or Camp McDonald, as it was a rebel camp of instruc¬ 
tion, and join the rebel army.” 

This was to put their heads into the lion’s mouth. 
Their best course would have been to have leisurely 
worked their way southward instead of going where' 
the excitement was highest. But it is always easy to 
be wise after the event. 

“ We came in sight of the camp late in the day, and marched 
into camp and reported at headquarters. Here we found several 
rebel officers, one of whom, who bore the marks of a colonel, 
turned his attention to us. After a short interview, which 
seemed plausible to him, he ordered us to report to the com¬ 
manding officer of the Ninth Georgia Battalion for enlistment. 
One of the companies not being full was called into line, and took 
a vote whether or not we should be received into the company. 
The vote was unanimous in our favor, and we, after giving fic¬ 
titious names, were assigned to a certain mess for our suppers. 
After supper we made the acquaintance of several of our new 
messmates, relating dismal stories of our treatment by the 
‘ Yankee’ hirelings in Kentucky, which made a good impression 
on our comrades as to our loyalty to the Confederacy. 

“Everything went right with us until in some manner it leaked 
out among the rebels that the Yankee raiders, by mistake or ac¬ 
cident, had left two of their party at Marietta. How this in¬ 
formation got out I never learned, but it could not be otherwise 
than that some of our party had indiscreetly told more than he 
ought when captured. Who the man was we never learned.” 

Then followed the usual questionings, ending in the 
acknowledgment by these two of their share in the en¬ 
terprise and their position as soldiers. It is not neces¬ 
sary to suppose, as Porter does, that one of the two 
captured on Saturday—it could have been no others, 
for Porter and Hawkins themselves were arrested Sun¬ 
day morning—gave information of two of our number 
being left behind. Porter and Hawkins told the same 
Kentucky story,—even enlarged upon it to their rebel 
messmates, and this was enough to direct suspicion to¬ 
wards them. Then when examined separately by the 
rebels it was impossible that they could avoid becoming 


OTHER CAPTURES. 


161 


entangled in their stories. After examination these 
two were committed to the Marietta jail, where they 
met Dorsey and his comrades, as narrated above. 

The last one of these narratives that our space will 
permit us to insert is the most eventful of all. Alfred 
Wilson and Mark Wood were the last of the whole 
party to be captured. The story is told in the most 
graphic manner by Wilson in his published account of 
the expedition. I would gladly give it in his own 
words but for its great length, and for the further fact 
that he gives literally many of his conversations with 
the rebels, in which both parties indulge in no small 
amount of profanity. 

As Wilson ran from the abandoned engine, of which 
he had been the fireman, he heard his name called, and, 
halting a moment, was joined by Wood, the only native 
Englishman of the party, and from that time the two 
became inseparable companions. They gained an open 
field on a long slope in front of them, but did not feel 
safe in trying to cross it, especially as they were out of 
breath and the enemy not far away. They fortunately 
saw where a tree had been cut down, probably the pre¬ 
ceding summer, and the brush lay scattered around 
with the dead leaves still clinging to it. Wilson 
adroitly covered Wood with some of the brush, making 
the heap so that it would not attract attention, and 
then crawled under beside him. There they waited 
with revolvers drawn, expecting to be discovered, and 
determined, in that event, to fight to the death. The 
rebels came very near, so that in some instances they 
might have been touched by the hidden fugitives. 
Their peril was extreme, but the pursuers were watch¬ 
ing the men at a distance rather than looking for those 
at their feet. Much of the rebel conversation could be 
overheard. One of two stalwart pursuers, armed with 
muskets, while just by the brush-heap, cried out,— 

“ There goes two of them! Come on ; let’s go for 
them!” 

14 * 


l 


162 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


“ Let’s get more help,” responded the other. 

“ But you see they have no guns,” urged the first, 
and they rushed out of hearing. 

These two poor men remained in that one place a 
long while before they dared venture forth. Their 
escape from detection was little less than miraculous. 
So many persons had trampled over the ground where 
they left the train that the dogs could do nothing at 
tracking them, or their refuge would soon have been 
discovered. The incessant rain added very much to 
their discomfort, as it did in the case of all the fugi¬ 
tives, but helped to throw the dogs from the track. 

After dark, however, they crawled out from the 
brush-heap, and could scarcely walk. After looking 
about, they decided to take an opposite course from 
wliat they had seen their comrades take, which was in 
the main westward from Chattanooga. They wished 
to pass far to the eastward of that town, and knew that 
they must carefully avoid it. 

The remainder of that night they travelled rapidly, 
and about daybreak found an old barn and hid them¬ 
selves in a mow of corn-fodder, where they slept com¬ 
fortably until about one o’clock, when they were dis¬ 
covered by two women who were hunting eggs. The 
latter were greatly frightened, and ran to the house 
which stood near, but Wilson and Wood followed, said 
they had been in pursuit of the train-robbers, and pre¬ 
ferred sleeping in the barn to disturbing anybody at 
the house. Dinner was over, but some corn-bread and 
buttermilk was furnished. This was the first food since 
leaving the train, and it was most acceptable. They 
paid for it, and went on their way greatly refreshed. 

But they did not think it prudent to go far before 
seeking concealment in a dense thicket to await the ap¬ 
proach of night. A squad of mounted soldiers went 
by on the road they had just left, apparently search¬ 
ing for some one. At nightfall they shaped their 
course, as nearly as they could, towards the Tennessee 


OTHER CAPTURES. 


163 


River, east of Chattanooga. They avoided the roads, 
but narrowly escaped running into a picket. At dawn 
the foot of the mountains was reached, and the wan¬ 
derers breathed freer than in the open country. They 
witnessed the rising of the sun, and were greatly cheered 
by its genial warmth. Sleep and weariness claimed 
them until nearly night, and with darkness they started 
on again. It was hard work, feeling the way over 
rocks, climbing precipitous places, and descending the 
steep inclines through.bushes and briers. 

On Wednesday morning mountains were on all sides, 
with no sign of human life or habitation. They took 
a nap in the warm sun, but hunger soon roused them. 
That one meal of corn-bread and buttermilk was all 
the food they had eaten since their start on Saturday. 

Thus pressed by hunger, they resolved to travel day 
as well as night, as in that lonely region it was not 
likely they would be molested. In the afternoon they 
reached the brow of a high mountain, overlooking a 
lovely and peopled valley. Almost perishing with 
hunger, they concluded to venture down and apply for 
food at a hut a little separated from the rest. A young 
woman appeared at the door, and, after hearing their 
story, proceeded to get them a meal. Wilson asked the 
way to the next town, the name of which he pretended 
he could not just speak, but she helped him out by 
mentioning—“ Cleveland ?” They feasted on ham, 
eggs, and rye coffee, and went on their way rejoicing. 

Wilson determined to have a map of the country. 
So leaving Wood outside well hidden, he ventured into 
Cleveland, and bought “ Mitchell’s Geography and 
Atlas,” the work, as lie thought, of his commanding 
general! He returned to Wood, tore out such portions 
of the map as they needed, and threw the rest away. 
They were now able to form an intelligible plan, though 
the one selected was full of peril. Wilson seems to 
have been fond of the water, and certainly managed 
well upon it. He wished to reach the Tennessee River, 


1G4 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


procure a boat of some kind, and float down the river 
past Chattanooga to some point within the Federal lines. 

By evening the travellers had reached the limits of 
that mountain ridge, and came down again into the 
valley. Another secluded log house induced them to 
apply for food without waiting till they were on the 
verge of starvation. Here they were very fortunate. 
Only a noble-looking lady was at home at first. She 
heard their story, but made up her mind that they were 
Union men, and in that belief gave them the best fare 
she had, and would accept no pay for it. She and her 
husband, who afterwards came in, gave them all the 
information in their power as to the best way of avoid¬ 
ing the rebel cavalry in the neighborhood, and asked 
no confidence in return. 

But misfortunes were before them. They now passed 
through a thickly-peopled valley, observing the great¬ 
est caution. Notwithstanding their vigilance they were 
suddenly halted by Colonel Snow’s cavalry,—a com¬ 
pany of rebel home-guards, whose principal business it 
was to keep down the Union men of the vicinity. By 
shrewd diplomacy they succeeded in making the cap¬ 
tain believe that they belonged to the neighboring town 
of Harrison. While accepting this statement he in¬ 
sisted that they were trying to run away to the Union 
army, but agreed that they might return to their homes 
if they would first take the oath of allegiance to the 
Confederacy, and then be ready to join his company 
when he called for their services. The oath was a bit¬ 
ter pill, but they swallowed it, and were set at liberty. 

They might now have taken a very safe course up the 
line of the Cumberland Mountains into Kentucky, but 
Wilson’s mind was fixed upon getting a boat and going 
down the Tennessee, which was almost in the opposite 
direction. Their thoughts recurred to the Union family 
where they had been fed the evening before, and they 
resolved to return thither, and, revealing their true char¬ 
acter, try to get help in crossing the valley to the river. 


OTHER CAPTURES. 


165 


As was safest, they came up to the hut in the night. 
The man admitted Wilson, while the woman stood with 
a rifle cocked, to kill him if he proved to be an enemy. 
Wood had been left at some little distance outside, so 
as to excite less alarm. Having been sworn themselves 
that day they were in the mood for continuing that busi¬ 
ness, and therefore swore the man to be true to them. 
He kept his oath far better than they did theirs. He 
told them they must not be seen about his house, and 
led them to an abandoned hut, which stood in a secluded 
spot on a remote part of his farm. He then furnished 
them with a bundle of quilts, and told them to stay in 
the cellar and be perfectly quiet, assuring them that 
they would be safe until he could get a chance to pilot 
them out of the neighborhood. He and his wife sup¬ 
plied them with provisions while they remained here, 
which was for several days. Two or three reasons led 
to this delay. Rest was sorely needed after the fatigue 
endured in mountain travel, Snow’s cavalry were still 
in the neighborhood, and they waited also for a dark 
night and a trusty guide to take them to* the river. 

The latter was found in the brother of the loyal 
woman whose guests they were. This man took them 
without difficulty, by a circuitous route, in the night¬ 
time, to a tributary of the Tennessee, by following 
which they could not fail to reach the main stream. 

The reason Wilson gives for his strong desire to 
travel by water is quite cogent. In the uneven moun¬ 
tainous country it was next to impossible to keep a 
direct course in night travel, even if they knew the 
general direction, while the stream would always keep 
them in the right way. Had they asked for guidance 
by their Union friends in the direction of Kentucky, 
however, they would have received it. 

They soon saw a boat on the other side of the river, 
but, as the creek was swollen and encumbered with drift¬ 
wood, they could not swim across. Wilson, who always 
took the lead, left his companion to conceal himself, 


166 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


and, going boldly to the bank, halloed until a man 
answered, 4 who, at his request, ferried him across. As 
the ferryman could not change a five-dollar note, Wil¬ 
son promised to return that way in the evening—it 
was then morning—and make it right. He hid during 
the day, and came back after dark, and, in the absence 
of the owner, “ borrowed” the boat, took Wood aboard, 
and was soon far away towards the Tennessee. The 
theft of the boat stands on the same grounds as to jus¬ 
tification with the numerous falsehoods told by all the 
adventurers,—a military necessity. 

At the mouth of the creek they found a patrol-boat 
anchored nearly across the stream, but, as it was pitch- 
dark and raining, they were not discovered, and, gliding 
close under her stern, were soon afloat on the swift cur¬ 
rent of the Tennessee. They rejoiced in this, but found 
that their perils were not^yet over. The incessant rain 
was very chilling, and blinded their eyes, the wind blew” 
almost a gale, and the current whirled them on with 
dangerous speed. They were in constant apprehension, 
for they could see but a little way before them, and 
scarcely knew where they were going. Many times 
they very narrowly escaped wreck. Few things in the 
whole history of the railroad adventure are more ro¬ 
mantic than the picture of these two men piloting a 
frail, stolen skiff down the mountain river during a 
night of rain and storm. 

Their motion was so rapid that they feared dawn 
might find them in the vicinity of Chattanooga, by 
which town it was necessary for them to pass. There¬ 
fore they began, in good time, to cast about for a safe 
landing and hiding-place. After many ineffectual at¬ 
tempts, they found a small island, hugged close to the 
shore, and reached the lower end, where they were out 
of the current, pulled themselves under the overhang¬ 
ing branches, and drew the boat on shore. 

Their position was still one of extreme discomfort. 
The rain had changed to sleet and hail, and all effort 


OTHER CAPTURES. 


167 


to get warm or dry was in vain. Daylight revealed a 
small cabin on the shore near by, from which the smoke 
curled up invitingly. Their suffering was unendurable, 
and they decided to seek shelter. 

They launched and crossed. Poor Wood, who after¬ 
wards died of consumption, brought on by exposure, 
and who was now almost frozen, said, “Alf, you will 
have to make up some lie to tell them. They will ask 
us a thousand questions.” 

Wilson answered, “ I don’t know what I can tell 
them. I am too cold to speak the truth, though.” 

The usual Kentucky story was modified to suit their 
surroundings. They asked for boats, and professed to 
be sent out to destroy all on the river, except where 
they were in the hands of trustworthy men, with the 
object of preventing Union men running away from 
the conscription. This was plausible, and they were 
warmed, dried, and fed. 

They now ran down a short distance in the daytime, 
tied up, and hid in a field. A man and boy saw their 
boat, and were about to take it, when the adventurers, 
unwilling to be done by as they had done, and confi¬ 
dent in their story, came out and stopped the proceed¬ 
ing. They asserted that it was a government boat, and 
that they belonged to a regiment in Chattanooga, which 
place they learned was only five miles away. The man 
invited them to his house to wait the lulling of the 
storm. They accepted, and after nightfall pushed off 
again, passing Chattanooga, which they had so long 
dreaded, in safety. They were now almost jubilant, 
but soon found that everything was not smooth sailing. 
I presume the storm, which had been so disagreeable, 
had also been a shelter, and that without it they might 
not have got by the rebel headquarters so easily. 

There is a deep gorge a few miles below the city, 
where the mountains rise abruptly from the water in 
frowning grandeur. The river is greatly narrowed, 
and, suddenly bending to the left, dashes its furious 


168 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


current against a wall of rock, and forms a foaming 
eddy. Our two navigators “ perceived even in the 
darkness that there was danger ahead. The great roar 
and noise caused by the dashing of the angry waters 
against the rocks warned us. We hugged the left hand 
with our little boat as closely as possible. As we passed 
the angry whirlpool, into which we seemed to be drift¬ 
ing, our boat was struck a tremendous blow by a float¬ 
ing log. We thought we were all dashed to pieces. 
The blow hoisted us away, however, several yards to 
the left, and we went flying down the gorge like the 
wind. We were afterwards told that a number of ad¬ 
venturous persons, had, at different times, lost their 
lives in trying to run down this place by getting 
swamped in this great torrent or whirlpool, and it was 
no doubt owing to the blow we received from the float¬ 
ing log, by which our boat was knocked just beyond 
the reach of danger, that we escaped as fortunately as 
we did. It was a providential blow for us, though it 
had wellnigh crushed our boat. We pulled at our 
paddles with might and main to keep th6 water from 
swamping our boat, which sank pretty low in the cur¬ 
rent and was now going at railroad speed. We soon 
reached smoother water, and again felt ourselves safe.” 

A man on the bank warned them not to try to run 
through the “suck,” a worse place than that which 
they had just passed. With much urging, and the 
promise of three dollars reward, they got him to agree 
to pilot them through. He was a skilful boatman, 
and took them in safety, though their boat was nearly 
filled with water. 

Because of these dangers they had been running in 
daylight. They were soon hailed by a squad of rebel 
cavalry, but, being well over on the opposite side, rowed 
on without seeming to notice them. They were now 
coming to the most dangerous part of their journey,— 
that near the Federal lines, where the vigilance of the 
enemy was most constantly exercised. They therefore 


OTHER CAPTURES. 


169 


resolved to travel only at night, hiding themselves and 
their precious boat by day. That night they passed 
Bridgeport, where they expected to meet Mitchel, but 
found he had not yet arrived. 

When they sought a solitary cabin to get food the 
next day they heard great news,—that the Yankees 
were in the town of Stevenson. This was confirmed 
by numerous fugitives who were seeking safety from 
the dreaded enemy. They got back to their canoe, 
rowed down the river until they judged themselves 
.opposite Stevenson, and then started across the country 
to find their friends. The good news elated them so 
much that they made the fatal mistake of not waiting 
for nightfall. Consequently they found themselves in 
the town sooner than they expected, and then to their 
dismay discovered that the streets were swarming with 
rebel soldiers ! The story of the frightened fugitives 
had entrapped them. 

But they put the best possible face on the matter. 
Buying a few articles in a store, they attempted to 
stroll leisurely out, but were stopped by an officer on 
guard and questioned. They answered plausibly,— 
probably with the Kentucky story, as they were now 
away from the river,—and were about to be released, 
when a man brought a false accusation. He recognized 
Wilson as being one of the Federal cavalry that charged 
into the town the previous night, and dared him to 
deny it! He did deny it, but in vain, and having 
been believed so often when telling falsehoods, it was 
only a fair compensation that he now told the truth to 
unbelieving ears. 

Wilson and Wood were put on a hand-cart and run 
back to Bridgeport. At this place an excited member 
of the crowd that gathered around them declared that 
he knew them both,—that he had seen them on the 
train with Andrews! Wilson always thought this 
man as much mistaken as his last accuser, but denial 
was no more availing than in that case. They were 
h 15 


170 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


taken before General Leadbetter, questioned separately, 
as usual in the captures, Wood “perspiring like a man 
in a July harvest,” and both virtually convicted, al¬ 
though Wilson answered the questions addressed to 
him in the most undaunted manner. They were taken 
to Chattanooga, fastened together with a chain around 
their necks, and handcuffed, as the others had been, 
and ordered to the hole. When they descended the 
ladder and joined our miserable company there assem¬ 
bled, they heard some plaintive voice say in the dark¬ 
ness, to which their eyes had not yet become accustomed, 
“ Wilson and Wood ! They have got every one of us !” 
It was true. Every one of the bold band had been 
captured and were gathered into one of the vilest dun¬ 
geons ever used by man to torture his fellow-man! 


CHAPTER X. 

A HORRIBLE PRISON. 

A plain picture of the Chattanooga prison into 
which the members of the railroad party v r ere thrust 
cannot be given in all its detail without shocking the 
sensitive reader. Even when the coarser features are 
omitted enough will remain to task credulity. The 
book and newspaper accounts published by the sur¬ 
vivors are not, however, the only evidence upon which 
the extraordinary story rests. In the Appendix the 
official report is given, based upon sworn testimony, 
and to this any one who may be disposed to doubt this 
narrative is referred. 

Yet I w^ould not hold the Southern people or even 
the Confederate government wholly responsible for the 
barbarous and outrageous treatment experienced at this 
place. The system of slavery is primarily responsible, 



A HORRIBLE PRISON. 


171 


for it provided such dens as the negro prison at Chat¬ 
tanooga. An intemperate man of Northern birth— 
General Leadbetter—found that the fortunes of war 
had placed a score of men, one after another, in his 
hands, and, feeling that they deserved severe treatment 
for the daring character of their enterprise, he reck¬ 
lessly ordered them, as fast as they were brought before 
him, to be committed to “the hole” without stopping 
to consider what accommodations it afforded. His 
subordinates, afraid of being themselves suspected of 
disloyalty if they showed sympathy with the prisoners, 
offered no remonstrance, and the result was suffering 
almost too fearful for belief. 

The captain, to whose charge I had been committed 
by General Leadbetter at the close of my examination, 
called a guard of eight men and conducted me through 
the streets to the northern part of the town. We 
halted before a little brick building surrounded by a 
high board fence,—the negro prison of Chattanooga, 
known as “ the hole.” A portion of the building was 
occupied by the jailer. The prison part consisted of 
two rooms, one directly under the other, and also partly 
underground. The upper room was accessible only by 
an outside staircase, and the lower had no entrance ex¬ 
cept from a trap-door directly overhead. 

The jailer, whose name was Swims, met us at the 
outer gate. He was a poor, ignorant creature,—a bad 
specimen of the “poor white” of the South, and had 
all his life been engaged in the lowest employments. 
He was old,—perhaps sixty,—and had abundant hair, 
which was very white, while his face was dry and 
withered. His voice was always keyed on a whining 
tone, except when some great cause, such as a request 
of prisoners for an extra bucket of water, excited him, 
and then it rose to a hoarse scream. Avarice was his 
predominant characteristic. He seemed to think that 
his accommodations were vastly too good for negroes 
and Yankees, and that when they were admitted to his 


172 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


precincts, they should be thankful and give as little 
trouble as possible. Such a man was able to greatly 
aggravate the hard lot of the unfortunate prisoners 
in his care. It should also be stated that he was very 
fond of a dram, and frequently became sufficiently in¬ 
toxicated to reveal many important matters that would 
otherwise have been concealed. 

Swims bustled up to the gate, growling about being 
troubled so much, unlocked it, and, admitting us, led 
the way up the outside stairway into the outer room. 
I then thought I understood why the general called the 
place “ the hole.” This room was only thirteen feet 
square, and entirely destitute of chairs, beds, or any 
conveniences whatever. Five or six old, miserable- 
looking men were in it, who appeared not to have been 
washed for months. I shuddered at the thought of 
taking up my abode in such a den. But I was not to 
be allowed that luxury. 

Said the jailer to the captain, “ Where shall I put 
him ?” 

“ Below, of course,” replied the captain. 

The jailer advanced to the middle of the room, and, 
taking a large key from his pocket, knelt down and 
unlocked two rusty locks; then, with a great effort, 
raised a ponderous trap-door just at my feet. The hot 
air and the stifling stench that rushed up from below 
drove me back a few steps; but the bayonets of the 
guards were just behind, and I was compelled to move 
forward again. A long ladder was thrust down through 
the trap-door, and the warning given those below to 
stand from under. A mingled volley of cries, oaths, 
and remonstrances ascended, but the ladder was secured, 
and I was ordered to descend, ironed as I was. The 
long chain and the ropes had been taken off, but the 
handcuffs remained. I did not like to go down that 
ladder into the gloom below, but there was no alterna¬ 
tive. The darkness hid every object from ,view, but I 
clambered down step by step to a depth of fully thir- 


TERRIBLE DESCENT. 


















































































A HORRIBLE PRISON. 


173 


teen feet,—for the place, as I afterwards learned when 
I had more leisure for observation, was of cubic form, 
just thirteen feet in length, breadth, and height. I 
stepped off the ladder, treading on human beings I 
could not discern, and crowded in as best I could. 

The heat was so great that the perspiration started 
from every pore. The fetid air made me, for a time, 
deadly sick, and I wondered if it could be possible that 
they would leave human beings in this fearful place to 
perish. The thought of the Black Hole of Calcutta 
rose instantly before me. I did not think life could be 
sustained in such a place for many hours. But I was 
yet to learn the wonderful possibilities of human en¬ 
durance. 

My breath came thick and heavy, and I expected 
suffocation. The ladder was drawn up, and with a dull 
and heavy thud that seemed to strike my heart the 
trap-door fell. It was like being closed alive in the 
grave! I wedged and forced my way through the 
throng to the window. The one I reached was just 
beneath the wooden, outside stairway, and even at noon 
gave very little light. The only other window was at 
the opposite side of the room and below the level of 
the ground. They were only holes in the thick walls, 
a foot square, and filled with a triple row of thick-set 
iron bars that almost excluded every current of air. I 
got my face near the bars and breathed the purest air I 
could get, until the horrible sense of suffocation dimin¬ 
ished as I became partially accustomed to these fearful 
surroundings, and then turned to ascertain the condi¬ 
tion of my prison companions. It was wretched be¬ 
yond description. They were ragged, dirty, and crawl¬ 
ing with vermin. Most of them were nearly naked; 
but the air was so stiflingly warm that those who had 
clothing had removed all they could. I soon found 
it necessary myself to disrobe, as far as my handcuffs 
permitted, and even then the perspiration was most 
profuse. It was an atmosphere of death. 

16 * 


174 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


I was the first one of the “ engine thieves” put into 
this horrible place, though several had been captured 
earlier. When I entered there were fourteen other 
white prisoners and one negro—sixteen in all—crowded 
into a room thirteen feet square. My dungeon partners 
were East Tennessee Union men. In how many other 
prisons these hapless victims to their own loyalty were 
immured I cannot tell; I found some of them in every 
prison of which I became an inmate, in Virginia and 
Georgia as well as Tennessee. The negro had been 
arrested on suspicion of being a fugitive, and treated in 
the manner usual in such cases. Ho trial was granted. 
A suspected fugitive was simply arrested and severely 
flogged. This usually brought some kind of a confes¬ 
sion, true or false, as the only way to stop the torture. 
He was then committed to prison and advertised in ac¬ 
cordance with his confession. If no answer came in a 
specified time, he was taken out and flogged into a new 
confession and re-advertised. Thus whipping and ad¬ 
vertising continued until the close of the year, when he 
was sold at auction to pay jail and whipping fees. If 
he was a slave, his master could take him out earlier; 
but a free negro had no prospect but the year of torture 
and afterwards perpetual bondage ! Can we too often 
thank God that the whole awful system of slavery has 
been swept away ? Poor Aleck had been in this horrible 
prison seven months, with no prospect but that of re¬ 
maining five more and then being sold. He was so 
kind and accommodating that he became a general 
favorite, and when he was taken out to be whipped we 
could not help feeling the deepest sympathy. 

Every society has its aristocracy, and I soon found 
that here the highest rank was accorded to those who 
were charged with having done most against the Con¬ 
federacy. There was one blind man, charged with 
being a spy, and he was considered much above the 
ordinary Union men. The rebels thought he was 
counterfeiting blindness, but I believe it was real. I 


A HORRIBLE PRISON. 


175 


was charged with the greatest offenct of any yet con¬ 
fined in that dungeon, and was, of course, treated with 
becoming deference. 

About an hour later the trap-door again opened, 
causing a stream of comparatively cool air from above 
to rush down. It was an inconceivable relief,—a luxury 
that none could appreciate who had not, like us, been 
deprived of God’s greatest physical blessing—pure air. 

We wondered who was coming next, as the feeble 
glimmering of a candle above revealed several forms, 
descending. The Tennesseeans cried out, “ Don’t put 
any more down here ! We’re full! We’ll die if more 
are put down here!” But these remonstrances, reason¬ 
able as they were, produced no effect. Down they 
came, and I, stationing myself at the foot of the ladder, 
spoke something indifferently to them, and heard my 
own name called in return. There was a warm clasp 
of ironed hands, and I knew that I had true comrades 
in our common misery. It was Andrews, Wollam, and 
Ross. Strangely mingled feelings swept over my bosom. 
I was sorry that they had come to this terrible place, 
yet glad of their companionship. We got into a corner 
by ourselves, for we did not know but a spy might be 
waiting to catch our words, and cautiously spoke of our 
past adventures, and strove to form some plans for the 
future. The trap-door was soon closed, and the free 
air, which had seemed to flow to us in sympathy, was 
once more shut out. 

Others of our band were brought, I do not remem¬ 
ber whether the same evening or the next morning, and 
we wondered what had become of those who were still 
absent. But they continued to arrive by twos and threes 
until all had met in this doleful place of assemblage. 
The whole number was twenty-two, and as fast as they 
came the Tennesseeans with us were removed into the 
room above, and we had the foul den all to ourselves. 
This allowed the advantage of talking freely without 
fear of Netrayal. 


176 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


We had great difficulty in arranging ourselves for 
sleep on account of the smallness of the room. An 
easy calculation will show how closely we were packed. 
A small corner was necessarily reserved for the water- 
and slop-buckets. Then two rows, with ten in each 
row, left two over, who had to be disposed of somehow. 
We did the best we could. Some sat against the wall, 
while others leaned against the breasts of those who 
were thus supported. Every motion caused the most 
dismal clanking of chains, for the chains were not re¬ 
moved even in such a dungeon. After we had been 
packed away for the night, if any one wanted to move 
liis position, or go for a drink, he was sure to tread on 
some of his neighbors, and, tempers being naturally 
very short here, some warm altercations took place, 
which contributed still more to disturb our slumbers. 
A fight in the darkness with manacled hands was sev¬ 
eral times prevented with great difficulty by those of us 
who were more pacifically disposed. 

A few of us, who were more fortunate, had no chains 
around our necks, but only wore handcuffs. I was 
strongly attached to William Reddick, one of a pair of 
handcuffs being placed on my left hand and the other 
on his right. In two instances three persons were fas¬ 
tened by one chain, which passed around the necks of 
each. William Campbell, a man of immense strength, 
was a member of one trio. I have seen him several 
times take hold of the chain near his own neck, and 
saying, “ Come here, you Yanks,” parade his two chain- 
comrades, in spite of all their resistance, back and forth 
over the room. 

In this wretched situation we slept much. The great 
quantity of carbonic acid our breathing produced acted 
as an opiate, and served in some measure to stupefy us 
and deaden the sense of pain. In the morning we slept 
or dozed, for we had no motive to rouse up until about 
nine o’clock. The next morning after my arrival I was 
awakened—early, as I supposed—by the opening of the 


A HORRIBLE PRISON. 


177 


trap-door and the delicious shower of cool air that fell 
upon us. As I looked up, there was the white head of 
our old jailer bending over and saying, in drawling 
tones, u Boys, here’s your breakfast,” and he lowered a 
bucket by a rope, with a very small piece of corn bread 
and a tiny morsel of meat for each of us. It was seized 
and devoured almost instantly. I had eaten nothing 
since the day before, and this pitiful supply only served 
to whet my appetite. But there was no more. I learned 
that we were to get our meals only twice a day, and then 
only a starvation allowance. The quality was that which 

“-captives’ tears 

Have moisten’d many a thousand years, 

Since man first pent his fellow-men 
Like brutes within an iron den.” 

I suppose our food in all our imprisonment was about 
equal as to quantity and quality with that supplied at 
Andersonville and other Southern prisons. But in the 
chaining, and the close packing in dungeons, probably 
no prisoners during the whole war fared so badly as we 
did. 

During the day that succeeded my arrival in this 
place of horrors a few more of our party were brought 
in, and among them was my especial friend, George D. 
Wilson. I found that the same reason which had led 
to the acknowledgment of my true character as a United 
States soldier had induced them to make the same con¬ 
fession. Anxious and frequent were the consultations 
we held as to the best course for us now to pursue. It 
was too late for absolute denial of our participation in 
the railroad adventure, even if that had ever been ex¬ 
pedient. The only possible course which seemed to 
offer any hope was to continue to claim the character 
and protection of soldiers engaged in regular warfare, 
and to this end answer all reasonable questions that 
might be asked. But there were certain facts we 
pledged ourselves in no case to reveal. Among these 
m 


178 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


was the name of our engineer, which they were spe¬ 
cially anxious to ascertain. The fact of ignorance in 
such a material matter would indicate that we were 
merely following the orders of those higher in author¬ 
ity, and would preserve poor Brown, who had acted in 
that capacity, from any special dangers. The fact of 
a previous expedition having been sent down into Geor¬ 
gia upon the same errand as our own, was on no ac¬ 
count to be divulged, as it was likely to stimulate our 
captors to inflict sterner punishments by way of pre¬ 
venting similar attempts in future. We were not to 
allow it to escape that William Campbell was a civilian 
only and not an enlisted soldier, as this would have 
made his position more perilous than our own. We 
were also to conceal having given any expressions of 
willingness to engage in such an expedition, claiming 
to have been detailed without our own consent, and or¬ 
dered to obey the directions of a man placed over us. 
The most vital point was in relation to Andrews. He 
had already admitted being the leader of the expedi¬ 
tion. We could, therefore, do him no good by pre¬ 
tending not to know him, but he asked that we should 
not admit having any knowledge of him before^ we 
were put under his orders; and, for our sake as well as 
his, we resolved to “ suppose” that he was some regu¬ 
larly commissioned officer of the Federal army. Most 
of us knew him in his true character,—that of a secret 
agent or spy. But to have admitted that fact would 
have been fatal to any hopes he may have had, and 
would have very seriously prejudiced our own case. 
The position we, therefore, took, in all our statements, 
was that of non-commissioned officers and soldiers be¬ 
longing to three Ohio regiments, who had been de¬ 
tailed for an unknown service, and ordered to report to 
an unknown officer, who had called himself Andrews, 
and that we had faithfully and unquestioningly obeyed 
such orders as had been given us. We agreed to urge 
that a flag of truce should be sent to our lines to in- 


A HORRIBLE PRISON. 


179 


quire if we were not what we claimed to be, well know¬ 
ing that, while General Mitchel would boldly avow us, 
and stretch his power to the utmost for our protection, 
he would be very careful not to say anything to the 
prejudice of our leader. 

Our plans were carried out to the letter. No one of 
our “ reserved facts ’ 7 was ever known to the enemy until 
we were all beyond his power, and the flag of truce was 
not sent only because the commanding officer said that 
he was perfectly satisfied to accept all our representa¬ 
tions as true. As others of our company were captured 
and joined us, they gave our plans their cordial ap¬ 
proval, and in the separate and formal examination of 
each one, gave their names, companies, and regiments. 
This could not fail to produce conviction of the truth 
of our story, and gained us the sympathy of all whose 
bosoms were not steeled against every kindly feeling. 
To this plan, conceived in the dungeon and consistently 
carried out, I attribute, more than to anything else, the 
escape of any part of our number. 

Though we did not now recognize Andrews formally 
as our leader,—he having repeated his previous decla¬ 
ration that we were to rely on ourselves,—yet we com¬ 
municated our plan to him, and he gave it his cordial 
approval, saying that if we closely adhered to it we 
would have some chance for our lives. No small 
amount of effort was made by the rebel authorities to 
induce us to tell more than we did. Their energies 
were bent especially to finding out the engineer. They 
would ask the question in the most casual manner, and 
a number of times, when one man was taken out alone, 
he would be offered safety and release if he would only 
tell this one thing, and threatened with instant death 
if he did not. But no one was moved. The opinion 
seemed to be that the discovery of the engineer would 
reveal the whole mystery of the enterprise. In this 
they were mistaken, but the opinion was not unnatural. 
They would also ask in many forms the question, 


180 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


“ How came it that you would consent to leave your 
camp in citizens* clothes for an enterprise you knew 
nothing about, and under the leadership of a person 
you had never seen, and whose rank and position you 
say you were ignorant of ?” The answer was always 
the same in substance : “ We were told by our officers 
to follow this man, and we considered it a soldier’s 
duty to obey.” I had to pass a more protracted ex¬ 
amination than any of the others, perhaps because I 
had told General Leadbetter so many of my inferences 
about war affairs when first taken before him. For 
two or three days I was even separated from my com¬ 
rades and daily questioned. I thus gained a short relief 
from the horrors of the negro prison, and could easily 
have secured my own safety by dishonor; but although 
I talked freely, I did not go a single word beyond the 
line which Wilson and myself, with the approval of all 
the others, had marked out. At last I overheard the 
acute lawyer who acted as examiner on these occasions 
say to General Leadbetter, “ It is no use. He is either 
ignorant or too sharp to tell anything.” I felt greatly 
complimented, and was then taken back to the horrors 
of the old dungeon, where I was warmly welcomed by 
my comrades, most of whom had passed a similar though 
briefer ordeal. It was on this occasion that the officer 
of the guard happened to lay a newspaper he was 
reading near me. I was hungry for news, and in a 
moment seized and concealed it in my clothing. It 
was missed and a great search made, but as I was hand¬ 
cuffed and looked innocent, suspicion did not fall on 
me. It was a great prize, for it contained a complete 
account of our chase as given by our pursuers. Through 
all our subsequent adventures I carefully preserved it, 
and at the date of writing it is still in my possession. 
The estimate it gives of the military importance of 
our expedition, and of what we actually accomplished, 
goes beyond what has been sketched in the preceding 
pages. (See Appendix No. II.) 


A HORRIBLE PRISON. 


181 


After these examinations were over, the misery of 
our dungeon-life closed about us again. Whether we 
Would be left there to perish, or whether some kind 
of a trial would be given us with the alternatives of 
release or execution,—what was the position of the 
armies outside, or the progress of the war,—we could 
not tell. In dreams only we were free. I remember 
lying down one afternoon and dreaming of the most 
beautiful snow-capped mountains in East Tennessee, 
and awakening with a freshness and hopefulness which 
lasted for many hours. But even dreams were not all 
thus pleasant; too often they rivalled the prison itself 
in shapes of terror and pain. 

One or two of our number managed to conceal a 
little money when searched, and, as our rations were 
very small, it was resolved to spend it for food. The 
jailer agreed to get us any provisions we wanted, so 
far as the money would go. There was an anxious 
discussion as to the most profitable mode of investment. 
Wheat bread and molasses—the latter being very cheap 
—were chosen, and the precious money tied to the rope, 
which was our only mode of communication with the 
upper world, and drawn up. It was at our evening 
meal. We knew Swims would not trouble himself to 
bring the provisions that evening, but we anticipated a 
bountiful breakfast, with the keenness that only starving 
men could feel. When the breakfast bucket dangled 
at the end of the rope the next morning, it was quickly 
seized, and lo! only the usual miserly allowance of 
“ pone” and meat. “ Mr. Swims, have you got the 
bread and molasses yet?” eagerly demanded a voice 
from below. In his most whining tones he drawled 
out, “B-o-y-s, I lost that money.” Had he been on 
our level instead of thirteen feet above, he might have 
learned how desperate men can become when hungry. 
But there was no remedy. The captain of the guard, 
when appealed to, considered it a good joke ! 


182 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


CHAPTER XL 

LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PRISON. 

Some two weeks after our capture Andrews received 
a very brief trial. The charges against him were two, 
—that of being disloyal to the Confederacy and of 
being a spy. On the first count the evidence against 
him was strong. A Mr. Whiteman, from Nashville, 
Tennessee, whom Andrews himself had directed to be 
summoned, and who had once been a partner of his in 
some business, testified that Andrews had repeatedly 
visited the South as a blockade-runner, bringing to 
Whiteman some ten thousand dollars’ worth of goods in 
that manner, and that he had always professed allegiance 
to the Southern Confederacy, representing himself to be 
a citizen of the same, and an enemy to the United States. 
When captured, he had passes in his possession which 
showed that he had also taken the oath of allegiance to 
the Southern government. He had, at the same time, 
admitted his part in the railroad adventure, which was 
assuredly an act of hostility against the South. In¬ 
deed, several persons were produced who saw him on 
the train, or directing its movements at some of the 
various stations during the chase. So far as I could 
learn, there was no direct evidence produced to show 
that he was or ever had been a spy, although this might 
be suspected from his passing back and forth across 
the lines, and so soon after acting as an enemy. His 
case was entirely different from that of the men he led, 
and much more unfavorable. They claimed to have 
been acting all the while as enemies, and now to be 
prisoners of war. They declared, and were ready to 
prove, their position in the Federal army. He gave no 


LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PRISON. 183 


account whatever of his position, or the authority 
under which he was acting, and allowed the court-mar¬ 
tial to establish their case as best they might. He was 
very reticent, as was proper, even among our band, as 
to his plans and hopes, but it was whispered among us 
that he expected the liberal use of money from an out¬ 
side source to influence the court, or aid in his escape 
if condemned. I never heard him, however, intimate 
anything of the kind, and he certainly received no 
such help in escaping. He employed two able lawyers, 
and they strove for delay, and at the last gave him 
reason to hope that some informalities in the proceed¬ 
ings would require the whole trial to be gone over 
again. No decision, however, was officially given, but 
he was put back in the same prison, and no more 
strictly guarded than the remainder of us, which was 
judged to be a favorable indication of the result. 

One day our old jailer, being very drunk, told us 
that General Mitchel had advanced to Bridgeport, only 
twenty-eight miles distant, and there defeated the rebels, 
capturing some of the very same men who had been 
our guards but a day or two before. How we wished 
to have been with him ! and how we hoped for a further 
advance on his part! To be captured with Chattanooga 
would be glorious! The officers of the guard were 
obviously uneasy. They took the strictest precautions. 
There were twenty-six men constantly on guard,— 
surely enough to watch over twenty-two, confined and 
chained in a dungeon as we were. 

Mitchel came nearer. We even heard the boom of 
cannon in the distance, and his advance probably saved 
our lives, by taking us for the time out of the clutches 
of Swims and Leadbetter, for a much longer confine¬ 
ment or rather suffocation there must have been fatal. 
The ladder was thrust down and we were ordered to 
come out. We would, then, have gladly remained in 
that vile den a little longer, in the hope of MitchePs 
arrival, but we crawled up. Our fastenings were in- 


184 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


spected, to see that none of us were in condition to 
make a sudden dash for liberty; we were formed into 
a column, with a line of rebel soldiers on each side, and 
then marched out through the gate towards the cars. 
Strangely the free air fanned our brows and strangely 
the wide sky bent above us. Very grateful was the 
sense of openness and room in the streets through which 
'we passed, even although ironed, with a rebel soldier 
on either hand. For three whole weeks twenty-two 
men had been cooped up in a dark room much smaller 
than an ordinary parlor. No wonder the streets of the 
hostile town seemed like freedom by comparison. We 
were soon seated in the cars, and were carried in the 
evening back southward on the road we had rushed 
over under such thrilling circumstances three weeks 
before, 

How beautiful all nature appeared! It was now 
May, and the time that we had spent in darkness had 
not been lost in the outside world. The landscape had 
been robed in richer verdure, the budding trees had 
swelled into leafy screens, the sky was of a softer blue, 
the birds warbled with new melody, and everything 
seemed to wear its holiday dress. 

O the joy ! the gladness! of being once more under 
the blue canopy of heaven, and of looking up to its 
unfathomable depths, with no envious bars to obstruct 
our view! Many a time have I looked on the most 
romantic scenery in the freshness of May, but never 
did I so deeply feel the pleasantness and beauty of the 
world as on that balmy evening, when the rays of the 
setting sun, glowing from the west, streamed over the 
grass and wheat-fields on their path, and poured in 
mellowed, yellow radiance through the car-windows. 
But I could not quite forget that I was chained to my 
companion and surrounded by guards with gleaming 
bayonets! 

The wild excitement caused by our raid had not sub¬ 
sided, and as it became known that we were passing 


LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PRISON. 185 

along the road, a mob greeted us at every station. It 
is not necessary to again describe these assemblages, 
for all were alike,—threatening, rude, loquacious, and 
insulting. 

We also noticed that soldiers on guard were at every 
station, and that each bridge we passed was strongly 
guarded. There could be no doubt that all these pre¬ 
cautions, so different from the careless security of less 
than a month previous, were among the tangible results 
of our enterprise. It was estimated that on the various 
roads of the South not less than three thousand troops 
had been diverted from the field and employed in se¬ 
curing communications in all parts of the rebel States. 
A general passport system, with all its vexations, had 
been introduced. Surely our enterprise, though un¬ 
successful in its immediate results, was far from fruit¬ 
less. 

We passed Big Shanty, passed Marietta, which had 
been the extreme point of our former journey south¬ 
ward, and went on to Atlanta. Here there was no jail 
room for us; but before going farther we had to wait 
all day in the cars for the evening train. Our arrival 
was soon noised abroad, and a larger mob than we had 
seen before gathered and proclaimed their intention of 
hanging us. The guard defended us manfully, and 
several persons were seriously injured. But while the 
disturbance was in progress, one man succeeded in 
reaching the window unnoticed and handed us a paper, 
using only the single, magical word, “ a friend,” and 
then disappeared in the throng. We read the paper by 
snatches, as we could do so secretly, and found it to 
contain glorious news ,—the capture of New Orleans ! 
Other items of news were adroitly wormed out of our 
guards, who could not be kept from talking with us, 
and we were full of hope that the darkening prospects 
of the Confederacy would brighten our own outlook, 
by rendering the advocates of a declining rebellion 
more cautious in their treatment of loyal soldiers. All 
16 * 


186 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


information was prohibited to us; but from the com¬ 
mon soldiers, the negroes, and often from the officers 
of the guard themselves, we managed to pick up items 
of intelligence, which gave us a general idea of the 
course of affairs. 

In the evening we left Atlanta, and after a journey 
not marked by any notable event reached Madison, in 
the same State. This was then a flourishing village, 
and had a pleasing look as we entered it. Some six 
hundred imprisoned Union soldiers had been already 
gathered here, and we freely indulged the hope, which 
was encouraged by our guards, that we would be put 
with them and henceforth treated only as prisoners of 
war. But we soon found that the brand of criminality 
for our daring adventure was not so easily effaced. We 
were marched past the dilapidated cotton-factory, where 
our fellow-soldiers were confined, to the old county jail. 
It was then entirely unoccupied, as all the prisoners had 
been released to join the Confederate army. It was a 
gloomy btone building, with two rooms, but both were 
above-ground, and the lower was entered by an ordi¬ 
nary door. This lower room, in which about half of 
our party, including myself and Andrews, were placed, 
was very dark, and its heavy stone walls rendered it 
quite damp. But for our previous experience at Chat¬ 
tanooga it would have been thought a wretched place. 
It was so much better than that, however, that we al¬ 
most enjoyed it. Indeed, we could not have endured 
such confinement as that at Chattanooga for many weeks 
longer. Several of our number could scarcely walk, 
and all were greatly injured in health by the three hor¬ 
rible weeks we had spent there. Now we were further 
from the pernicious influence of General Leadbetter, 
and, although we were still kept in irons by his explicit 
orders, yet the captain of the guard, in whose direct 
charge we were, showed us all the kindness in his 
power, easing the irons which pressed too heavily upon 
swollen limbs, and procuring us abundance of good 


LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PRISON. 187 

water, as well as a better supply of the coarse food, 
which we ate in common with our guard. 

The citizens of the town were freely admitted to see 
us, and ranged themselves—always in the presence of 
the guard—-along one side of the room, and talked of 
all the exciting events of the day. We were now in 
our true character, and were not likely to be benefited by 
concealing our real sentiments. I used to greatly enjoy 
their surprise and horror when I avowed myself an 
abolitionist, and told them that I had always been one. 
They had been talking about abolitionists for years, but 
had never before seen a man Avho would admit the jus¬ 
tice of the charge. The citizens expressed much admi¬ 
ration for us and for the daring of our expedition, con¬ 
trasting the latter with what they were pleased to call the 
cowardice of the Northern armies in general. George 
D. Wilson one day earnestly assured them that we were 
the poorest men in MitchePs division, and had only 
been sent on this expedition because he had no use for us! 

Here occurred one of the romantic incidents of prison- 
life. We had been intensely anxious for some direct com¬ 
munication with our own army, but from our side there 
was no means of effecting it. One day, however, a 
man dressed in a rebel uniform came with the throng 
of visitors, and managed to talk quite a while, and, as 
I thought, in a very disconnected manner, with An¬ 
drews. I also thought I noticed an exchange of signs 
between them. As soon as he and the visitors had 
gone, and we were once more alone, Andrews told us 
that the man was a spy in the service of the United 
States, and that they had managed, even in the pres¬ 
ence of the guard, and without exciting the least sus¬ 
picion, to say all that was necessary, and that we might 
be assured that our friends on the other side of the lines 
would soon know all about us. I was a little incredu¬ 
lous, thinking that the great anxiety of our leader to 
communicate with some one who was a Federal spy, as 
he himself had been, had caused him to misunderstand 


188 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


this man, and supposed his signs recognized when they 
were not. 

But when the captain of our guard brought us supper, 
he lingered a little in conversation, and remarked that 
a most singular thing had taken place that afternoon, 
and that after this we would receive no more visitors. 
Being pressed for explanations, he finally gave them. 
He said that the provost-marshal of Madison had re¬ 
ceived information that one of Lincoln’s spies was in 
town, and had even been among our visitors, though, 
the captain said, he was glad that the spy had found no 
opportunity to reveal himself to us ! The marshal at 
once despatched a squad to arrest him. They found the 
suspected stranger at the depot, just as the cars were 
coming in. He was boisterously indignant at his ar¬ 
rest, and told them that he had papers in his pocket 
which would prove his character anywhere. They let 
go their hold on him, so that he might produce his 
papers. He lectured them roundly while pretending 
to search in his pockets, until he noticed that the train, 
which was starting, had attained a good degree of head¬ 
way, and then, just as the last car swung by, he sud¬ 
denly flung the soldiers from him and jumped aboard. 
There was no telegraph station at Madison, and no 
other train that evening, so that an effective pursuit was 
out of the question. 

The Confederates were very much enraged, and our 
confinement was rendered much more strict. But we 
felt ample compensation in the hope that our officers 
would now know just where we were, and be able to 
make all possible efforts for our safety. Whether the 
spy surmounted all other perils and got safely to our 
lines, we never heard. 

Three days only did we remain at Madison,—days 
of comparative quiet and hope, during which we re¬ 
covered some degree of our wasted strength, which was 
sadly needed for future trials. The rebel authorities, 
having become convinced that Chattanooga was not 


LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PRISON. Ig9 

in present danger from General Mitchel, ordered us 
back to that place. Our destination was not known to 
us, and the usual rumors circulated as to being now on 
our way for exchange. To move from one prison to 
another—an experience we had quite frequently—was 
always a welcome relief, and served, in some measure, 
to mitigate the excessive rigor of our confinement. We 
went back over the same road we came, and had again 
to run the gauntlet of insulting and jeering mobs. We 
traveled in rude box-cars, wet and filthy, and were har¬ 
assed by the fear of going back to our miserable prison 
at Chattanooga. One circumstance rendered the journey 
more endurable. Captain Laws, who commanded the 
guard, and his soldiers also, had been in close asso¬ 
ciation with us for several days, and had become really 
interested in our welfare. While he did not relax any 
of his vigilance, he strove to make the hardship of our 
position more endurable, and showed a friendly spirit 
on every occasion. His good will was especially valu¬ 
able when we reached Chattanooga. 

The remorseless order had been given for our return 
to the negro prison. Captain Laws could not change 
this, but by using his influence with Colonel Patrick 
Cleiburne, a man of humanity, who occupied the posi¬ 
tion of provost-marshal of Chattanooga for a short 
time, he got permission for us to remain in the upper 
room instead of being forced into the dungeon below. 
This was a great relief, for although we were equally 
crowded, yet the upper room was above-ground, had 
three windows instead of two, and these were of larger 
size. We had, therefore, a much better supply of air 
and light. We were very sorry for the fourteen poor 
Tennesseeans who were put below. 

Our enemies displayed a wonderful degree of caution 
in the manner of guarding us. Even when we were 
below, where a man, if left alone, could scarcely have 
gotten out without assistance, they never raised the 
trap-door unprotected by a strong guard. Old Swims 


190 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


remonstrated against our being in the upper room, and 
seemed in perpetual terror. He fretted, and predicted 
that evil would come from showing the Yankees so 
much indulgence. Yet the precautions observed ought 
to have reassured him. Before our door was opened 
a strong guard was always brought up-stairs into the 
jailer’s room, from which ours was entered, and arrayed 
in two lines with levelled bayonets. At the same time 
the stairway was guarded, and the whole jail surrounded 
by a strong force outside of the wall. We had not 
yet been relieved of our fetters,—at least, not by Con¬ 
federate authority. 

Colonel Cleiburne had asked permission to remove 
our irons, and this being refused, he gave us, on his 
own responsibility, an inexpressibly great indulgence. 
For an hour or two every fine afternoon he ordered the 
guards to bring us out into the jail-yard. This was 
something to look forward to all the day, and made our 
second confinement at Chattanooga far less irksome and 
prostrating than the first. To simply sit in the sun¬ 
light and watch the clouds drifting in the blue above, 
or to walk back and forth watching the lengthening 
shadows of the mountains, was intense enjoyment. We 
will never cease to be grateful to the brave Irish soldier 
who secured us these indulgences, which, simple as they 
were, had not been expected. 

But we felt that'the wearing of irons for so long a 
period was entirely unnecessary, and set our wits to 
work for the removal of such needless incumbrances. 
One of the party had managed to secrete a small knife 
in his sleeve while being searched, and with this he 
whittled out rude keys from the bones of the meat 
given us, which readily unlocked our handcuffs. The 
padlocks on the chains were served in a similar manner. 
We did not dare to let any one of the guards know of 
this expedient, or appear in public in our new liberty, 
lest more effectual means should be devised of securing 
us. To avoid detection while thus unchained we always 


LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PRISON. 191 


kept some one on the watch. When a footstep was 
heard on the outside stairway the signal was given, and 
a quick rattling of chains accompanied the adjustment 
and relocking of our bonds. When the door opened 
we would appear all properly chained, but when alone 
we would soon be free again. This deception was con¬ 
tinued as long as we were kept in irons. 

We here took up the amusement of mock trials. 
Andrews had been tried, and the remainder of us ex¬ 
pected to be, either in a body or singly. This may 
have suggested the diversion, which soon became very 
popular. One of the company would be charged with 
some offence, usually a trifling breach of our self-im¬ 
posed prison rules. William Campbell, whose immense 
personal strength better enabled him to enforce his de¬ 
cisions, usually officiated as judge, until at last he got 
the name of “judge” firmly fixed upon him. We had 
ample time for this sport, and the opposing counsel 
would make very long and learned speeches. So inter¬ 
esting were these arguments, and so eloquent were our 
appeals, that no one of the auditors was ever known to 
leave the court-room while they were in progress! The 
witnesses were very slippery, and it was often difficult 
to reconcile their testimony. Some friends of the pris¬ 
oners nearly always attempted to resist the laws and 
prevent the infliction of penalties, but in such cases the 
personal iveight of the judge decided the affair. This 
resistance would give rise to new arrests and trials, and 
thus the work became interminable. 

Another and more refined source of enjoyment w T as 
found in music. There were several good singers in 
the party, and by practising together they soon acquired 
great proficiency. Most of the songs, under the lead¬ 
ership of Marion Ross, were of a tender and senti¬ 
mental cast, such as “ Nettie Moore,” “ Carrier Dove,” 
“ Twenty Years Ago,” “ Do they miss me at Home ?” 
etc. The most frequent time for singing was when 
twilight began to fall. Then all other occupations 


192 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


would be laid aside, and in the gathering darkness the 
voice of song would roll out as full and sweet as if not 
strained through prison-bars. The guards were very 
fond of our singing, and frequently groups of citizens 
also would gather around the high jail-fence to listen. 
Words of sympathy and kindness for the “caged Yan¬ 
kees” became more common, and there were a good 
many tangible manifestations of the same feelings. 
The guards who came in contact with us,—a consider¬ 
able number, as one squad replaced another,—together 
with many of their officers and many residents of Chat¬ 
tanooga, began to ask why we were not treated as other 
prisoners, and the shameful chains taken off. I do 
not know whether this produced any essential change 
in our fortune. Most likely it was the reason we were 
not brought to trial in a town where we would have 
been sure of so much sympathy, but were arraigned in 
a distant place, and before officers who were strangers 
to us. 

Yet no friendliness on the part of our guards, or 
mitigation in the horrors of our treatment, put the 
thought of escape out of our minds, although it did 
divide our counsels and delay an attempt. With many 
others, I was convinced that we ought to make a bold 
push for liberty. The very strictness of the guard was 
a challenge to do our best to overcome it. If there 
were a few gleams of humanity in the present treat¬ 
ment, this was merely because our captors had discov¬ 
ered us to be human beings and not monsters ; besides, 
there was enough still in the vile nature of our food 
and rigor of our confinement to justify the most des¬ 
perate effort for freedom. If we tried and failed, we 
might lose our lives in the attempt; but this was a risk 
soldiers have to take in every enterprise; if recaptured, 
we would be no worse off than we were, for the charge 
of attempting to escape could be no more deadly than 
the old one of seizing the train. But those who did 
not wish to make the attempt, among whom George D. 


LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PRISON. 193 

Wilson was foremost, maintained that our enemies 
were growing daily kinder, and that we would soon be 
formally placed on the footing of prisoners of war; the 
commander of the guard, Captain Laws, had become 
even intimate with Wilson, and had assured him that 
our good conduct was producing a profound impression 
in our favor; to forfeit this now by a foolhardy attempt 
to escape might turn the scale against us. Ross agreed 
with Wilson. He was a Freemason, and some mem¬ 
bers of the fraternity visited him, and gave him as¬ 
surances of friendship, together with some small sums 
of money, which he generously used to procure us all 
a little greatly-needed addition to our food. We no 
longer made our purchases through Swims, but through 
Captain Laws, who did not lose the money intrusted 
to him. 

Finally the majority decided in favor of an attempt 
to escape. Two plans were proposed,—the first by the 
writer. When men who are not expecting danger are 
suddenly surprised, there is a moment when they are 
incapable of action, and may be at the mercy of a bold 
adversary. The same plan, in general outline, was 
carried out long afterwards with the most brilliant suc¬ 
cess. It was simply to have our irons off when the 
guards came to feed us in the evening, and then, as the 
door opened, to make a simultaneous rush upon the 
levelled bayonets outside, wrest the muskets from their 
holders, and pour down the stairs on the guards below. 
If we succeeded in reaching the ground before the 
guards fully realized what was going on, a few mo¬ 
ments would suffice to disarm them, and then we could 
leave the prison-yard in a solid body, run with all our 
speed to the ferry-boat which lay on our side of the 
river, not far distant. Once over the river, armed 
with muskets and bayonets, we would have been com¬ 
paratively safe. 

But Andrews did not like this plan for the same 
reason that made him so unwilling to use our arms in 
1 n 17 


194 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


desperate fighting during the race on the train. He 
proposed another plan, which, as he still had great in¬ 
fluence with us, was adopted. His proposition was that 
some one—John Wollam, I think, was selected for the 
perilous attempt—should conceal himself under the bed 
in the jailer’s room as we passed through it on our re¬ 
turn from the breathing-spell in the yard, and remain 
there until all was quiet at night; then come out and 
noiselessly unlock the door; after this we could rush 
down, seize the guard, and proceed as in our first plan. 
The time for this bold attempt was fixed for a moon¬ 
less night not far distant. 

There were two soldiers of the original twenty-four 
detailed for our enterprise who failed to reach the des¬ 
ignated rendezvous at Marietta. One was from the 
Twenty-first, the other from the Second Ohio Regi¬ 
ment. They had been suspected and compelled to join 
a rebel battery, representing themselves as brothers 
from Kentucky. In the skirmish at Bridgeport the 
member of the Twenty-first found an opportunity to 
run across the railroad bridge and join Mitchel. This 
caused suspicion to rest on his supposed brother, who 
was arrested, brought to Chattanooga, and thrown into 
the dungeon while we were there. There was some 
suspicion that he might have belonged to our party, 
but we refused to recognize him, and after confinement 
for some time he was sent back to the battery again, 
and from it, after many remarkable adventures, suc¬ 
ceeded in making good his escape to the Union lines. 

There was at this time a great talk of our exchange, 
and our drooping hopes revived. A son of General 
Mitchel’s was captured, but the general held a large 
number of rebel prisoners, and released one of them— 
a lieutenant—on parole, to propose an exchange. This 
man visited us and raised the most sanguine hopes 
in our bosoms. The Confederate officers encouraged 
those hopes, but said we must first go through a merely 
formal trial to prove that we were really soldiers, after 


LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF PRISON. 195 

which we would be included in the exchange which 
would undoubtedly be made. We wanted them to 
refer the question of our soldiership to General Mitchel, 
but we have every reason to believe that they not only 
never asked him anything about us, but used all the 
means in their power to prevent him from obtaining 
any knowledge of our situation. The exchange was 
effected, but we were not included, and the lieutenant 
was not permitted to return to the loyal camp. 

These delusive hopes had served to delay a little 
longer our projected escape, but at last we resolved to 
end the suspense. The very day we had fixed upon 
for the desperate enterprise an event occurred which 
deranged the plan in the most unexpected manner by 
dividing our party. George D. Wilson, who was very 
sick, was taken down into the yard closely guarded. 
While he was there Captain Laws came to him, and 
said that he had received an order for twelve of our 
number to be taken to Knoxville, to pass the formal 
investigation which had been so long talked about, and 
which was to fix the character of the whole party as 
prisoners of war. Wilson asked who the twelve were 
to be, and wished that he might be one. The captain 
told him that this was easily arranged, as the order 
called merely for twelve, without giving names. He 
further offered Wilson the privilege of naming eleven 
others beside himself to go, saying that he would do 
well to select the ablest men,—those who could do 
themselves most credit on examination. Whether this 
was a mere incident, or whether it was a plan laid to 
have Wilson select the most prominent men of the 
party, that they might be tried and put to death, I 
have never learned. In the light of the subsequent 
history, this choice was a matter of profound impor¬ 
tance, and my own opinion is that the names were pur¬ 
posely left blank, and Wilson induced to make the 
choice, with the view of his leaving out the nine who 
might best be reserved for the exercise of mercy after 


196 CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 

the others were capitally punished. If this was the 
case, I cannot persuade myself that Captain Laws was 
in the secret. But poor Wilson was completely mis¬ 
led. He told me that he considered that those who 
went to Knoxville would probably be exchanged first, 
if any difference was to be made. So he put down his 
own name first, and mine next. Then followed the 
other two who belonged to our regiment,—the Second 
Ohio; then William Campbell, the muscular citizen 
of Kentucky, and the list was filled out by the names 
of Wilson’s especial friends from the other regiments. 
As we twelve, who were to go to Knoxville, waited 
the hour of starting, a shade of gloom fell upon us. 
For nearly two months we had been companions in 
trials and privations such as fall to the lot of few men, 
and now our band was to be separated. There was no 
certainty of reunion; for, in spite of fair words, the 
fact remained that we were in the power of desperate 
and deadly foes, who would not hesitate a moment in 
taking our lives, if they saw it for their own advantage 
to do so. 

The parting with Andrews, our noble leader, was 
especially affecting. We had been accustomed to ask 
his advice in all emergencies. He had been already 
tried by court-martial, and, although no sentence had 
been given, the long delay was not a favorable omen. 
We knew that he was the first mark for the vengeance 
of the foe. Officers and visitors, in bidding us hope, 
had no words of comfort for him. He bore this like 
a hero, as he was, and continued to hope for some de¬ 
liverance. But now, after we had sung our songs to¬ 
gether for the last time, and came to bid him farewell, 
we were all moved to weeping. I will never forget his 
last words, as he pressed our hands, with tears in his 
eyes, and said, in a low, sad voice that thrilled through 
my inmost being, “ Boys, if I never see you here again, 
try to meet me on the other side of Jordan.” Never 
did we look upon his noble face again! 


THE FIRST TRAGEDY . 


197 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE FIRST TRAGEDY. 

We will first narrate the history of the nine soldiers 
and their leader, from whom we parted with so much 
sorrow and foreboding when the remainder of us were 
sent to Knoxville. Various reasons have been conjec¬ 
tured for this separation, one of which has been given 
in the preceding chapter. Another that has been en¬ 
tertained by many of the party, who have had the op¬ 
portunity of reviewing the facts, is that the enemy was 
now ready to proceed in the work of vengeance, and 
wished to lessen any possible danger of escape on our 
part when we had been driven to desperation by the 
beginning of the bloody work. If this was their de¬ 
sign, it was not without success, for the attempt to 
escape, fixed for the very day of our separation, was in 
consequence postponed for a time. 

A week elapsed, during which nothing occurred to 
break the monotony of imprisonment. The plan of 
escape had been modified to be more easily within the 
reach of the diminished numbers of the prisoners. The 
jack-knife, which had made keys for unlocking the 
handcuffs, was again brought into use. The jail walls 
consisted of brick, and were lined inside with heavy 
plank, reaching to the top of the upper room and cov¬ 
ering the ceiling. Three men leaned against the wall, 
while a fourth stood on their shoulders, and with the 
knife cut into the heavy plank overhead. It was no 
light task to cut out a hole large enough to admit the 
passage of a man’s body into the attic. A small part 
of each day only could be devoted to the work, and the 
utmost vigilance was needed to prevent discovery. The 


198 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


“ singing hour” was especially serviceable, as then the 
noise of the knife could not be heard. The cut, when 
so nearly completed as to require little more labor, was 
so filled up as not to attract notice from below, and at¬ 
tention given to other parts of the work. Just then an 
incident occurred which added the energy of despera¬ 
tion to the efforts for liberty. 

Captain Laws entered the prison-yard one day, while 
our comrades were enjoying the shade of the prison in the 
afternoon breathing-spell, which had been procured by 
the kindness of Colonel Cleiburne and himself, and going 
up to Andrews, with averted face, handed him a paper. 
Andrews glanced at it, stood perfectly still a moment, 
and then silently turned, and walked up-stairs into the 
cell, the door of which had been left open. No one of 
his comrades said a word, but all felt that something 
dreadful had happened. The officer, who seemed hardly 
able to control his own emotion, waited for a little time, 
and then telling the prisoners very gently that it was 
time to close up the prison, guarded them back to their 
room. 

The explanation Andrews then gave was scarcely 
needed. He had received his death-sentence! A week 
from that day had been appointed as the time, and 
hanging as the mode of his execution. The sorrow 
of the brave men Was indescribable. The many noble 
qualities of our leader had won not only respect but 
love. His unselfish regard for every one of his com¬ 
panions in misfortune, his cheerful, kindly manner 
under the greatest sufferings, had made a deep impres¬ 
sion even on his guards,—much more on his comrades. 

But there was one gleam of hope. Andrews and his 
party resolved at once to carry out their projects for 
breaking out of the jail. These soldiers would have 
dared anything in the hope of saving their leader; be¬ 
sides, the feeling was general that this execution would 
be but the beginning. Some of the number had always 
maintained that no hope existed save the gleam that 


THE FIRST TRAGEDY. 


199 


might come from some desperate attempt for liberty, 
such as they were now to put forth. 

But an additional obstacle was interposed,—Andrews 
was put down in “ the hole” after receiving his sen¬ 
tence. This required the well-worn knife to be again 
used, sparingly but persistently. Notches were sawed 
in the planks which held the bolts of the trap-door, 
and an old blanket or two, with some articles of cloth¬ 
ing, were twisted into ropes. When all this was done, 
although the first flush of dawn began to appear in the 
east, they dared not risk the chance of their work being 
discovered the next day, and accordingly resolved to go 
at once. Andrews had been drawn up out of the hole, 
and it was agreed to give him the first chance for his 
life. Andrews and John Wollam were in the loft or 
attic over the prison room, while all the others, in their 
assigned order, were ready to mount up through the 
aperture they had cut in the ceiling. A few bricks in 
the outside wall had also been removed, and enough 
of the rude ropes prepared to allow one by one to de¬ 
scend to the ground. The hope was that by taking off 
their boots and moving very cautiously, each one could 
go into the loft and out through the hole in the wall, 
and clamber down the outside blanket-ropes without dis¬ 
turbing the repose of the guard. Those who got down 
first were to wait beside the jail until all their comrades 
were on the ground before attempting to dash across 
the jail-fence and the guard-line outside. 

It was an anxious moment. They could see the dim 
form of the sentry, and hear his measured tread, as he 
paced back and forth not a dozen yards away. The 
word was passed from one to another in the prison that 
all was ready. 

Andrews crept out first and swung over the wall, but 
in doing so loosened a piece of mortar or a brick, which 
fell to the ground with a loud “ thump,” and attracted 
the notice of the sentry outside, who instantly gave the 
alarm, firing his gun and calling “ Halt! halt! Cor- 


200 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


poral of the guard !” The whole guard Avas instantly 
aroused, and the firing became rapid. Andrews, how¬ 
ever, dropped to the ground, darted to the fence, and 
was over before he could be prevented. Wollam heard 
the noise from the inside, and knowing that caution 
was now needless, sprang through the wall, and slid 
with the greatest rapidity to the ground. A number 
of shots were fired while he was suspended in the air, 
but the dim light and the hurry and confusion were 
not favorable to a steady aim, and he, also, got to the 
ground and over the fence unhurt. Dorsey was third 
in order, but was too late. Before he could get into the 
loft the guard were ready to make sure work of any 
who might follow. He prudently turned to his com¬ 
rades and said, “ It is all up with us !” The whole 
town was soon aroused. High officers visited the prison 
to see how many had escaped. They found the re¬ 
maining eight safely ironed as before, the keys having 
been brought into use. The natural supposition was 
that only the two who were missing had succeeded in 
getting off their irons, and that the others had not es¬ 
caped because too tightly fettered. They were, how¬ 
ever, put down in “ the hole” as an additional security, 
and all damages to the prison carefully repaired, while 
the guard manifested unusual vigilance. The afternoon 
airing was forbidden, and all the strictness which had 
marked the first confinement in Chattanooga returned. 
The poor captives were made to feel that they had now 
nothing to expect but the sternest dealings. 

One consolation was left them in the hope that their 
comrades had made good their flight, and that the 
death-sentence of Andrews could not now be executed. 
When the firing was first heard the not unnatural in¬ 
ference was that both the fugitives had perished, but 
they knew that such news would soon have been im¬ 
parted to them; and as days passed by, their hope 
strengthened that two, at least, of their fated company 
would get back to the Union lines to tell the story of 


THE FIRST TRAGEDY. 


201 


their adventures and sufferings. How far these hopes 
were realized will be seen in the sequel. 

When Andrews left the prison it was nearly day, so 
that he knew he could not long continue his flight with¬ 
out detection. He went only a few hundred yards 
away from the city, and there finding a dense tree, 
climbed, unobserved, into its branches. It was in plain 
view of the railroad and the river. All day long he 
remained in this uncomfortable position, and saw the 
trains passing almost under his feet, and heard his pur¬ 
suers speculating as to what could possibly have become 
of him. The search all over the vicinity was most 
thorough, but fortunately no one thought of looking 
into the tree. 

At night he came down and swam the river, but 
becoming entangled in some drift-wood, floated down 
past Chattanooga, and did not disengage himself until 
he had lost most of his clothing. His boots had been 
lost in the first alarm, and he was thus placed in the 
most unfavorable position for escaping, but he journeyed 
on as well as he could. Though so much superior, in 
many particulars, to his followers, yet in trying to es¬ 
cape in the woods he seems to have been as much in¬ 
ferior. As will be seen, Wollatn, and, at a later period, 
many others of the number, were far more skilful or 
fortunate than he. Early in the morning he crossed an 
open field on his way to a tree in which he intended to 
take shelter as on the preceding day, but unfortunately 
he was observed. Immediate pursuit was made, but 
he dashed through the woods and regained the river 
much lower down than the day before. Here he swam 
a narrow channel and reached a small island, where, 
for a time, he secreted himself among some drift-wood at 
the upper end of the island. In all his terrible struggle 
he seemed to look to the river and to trees for safety. 
These became fixed ideas, and possibly interfered with 
his seeking refuge in any other manner. But the loss 
of clothing at the outset was a fatal misfortune. 


202 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


A party with blood-hounds now came over from the 
mainland to search the island for him. The dogs 
came upon him, but he broke away from them, and 
ran around the lower end of the island, wading in the 
shallow water, and in this way throwing the hounds off 
the track; then he plunged into the dense thicket with 
which the island was covered, and again ascended a 
tree. There for a long time he remained securely con¬ 
cealed, while his pursuers searched the whole island. 
Frequently they were under the very tree, whose high 
foliage effectually screened him from the gaze of dogs 
and men. At last they abandoned the search in de¬ 
spair, concluding that he had by some means left the 
island. Slowly they took their departure to devise 
new plans of search. Two little boys, who came along 
merely from curiosity, were all that were left behind. 

At length, in their play, one of them looked upward, 
and said that he saw a great bunch on a tree. The 
other looked,—shifted his position,—looked again, and 
exclaimed, “ Why, it is a man !” They were alarmed 
and cried aloud, thus announcing their discovery to 
their friends on shore. The latter instantly returned, 
and Andrews, seeing himself discovered, dropped from 
the tree, ran to the lower end of the island, took a 
small log, with a limb for a paddle, and shoved into 
the stream, hoping to reach the opposite shore before 
he could be overtaken. But there was another party 
lower down the river with a skiff, who saw him and 
rowed out to meet him. Thus enclosed, he gave over 
the hopeless struggle, and surrendered to his fate,—in¬ 
evitable death ! He afterwards said that he felt a sense 
almost of relief when the end had come and he knew 
the worst. From the time of losing his clothing in the 
drift-wood he had but little expectation of ultimate es¬ 
cape. The spectacle of a man condemned to death, 
starving and naked, hunted through the woods and 
waters by dogs and men, is one of the most pitiable 
that can be imagined. 


THE FIRST TRAGEDY. 


203 


Alfred Wilson, who was one of the eight who failed 
. to escape, speaks in feeling terms of the manner in 
which their leader was brought back to them on the 
third day after escaping. He says,— 

“ At the prison we were startled by a rumor that Andrews had 
been taken, but we at first gave little credence to it, probably be¬ 
cause we did not desire to believe it. But, alas ! the rumor was 
only too true, for soon after, a strong guard of soldiers, having in 
charge a prisoner, followed by a rabble of citizens, approached 
the prison. It was Andrews! Oh, how our hearts and hopes 
sank down within us beyond the power of expression ! . . . I 
could have prayed that death had spared me those painful 
moments, the most harrowing of my life. He was the most 
wretched and pitiable human being I ever saw,—a sight which 
horrified us all, and even drew words of compassion from some 
of our prison guards. His own brother would scarcely have been 
able to recognize him. It did not seem possible that the short 
space of three days could have wrought a change so startling. 
As he lay there chained to the floor, naked, bloody, bruised, and 
speechless, he seemed more dead than alive. He had not eaten a 
morsel since he left us,—during which time he had made the 
most desperate struggle for liberty and life. He had swam 
about seven miles in the river in his efforts to keep clear of 
the dogs. His feet were literally torn to shreds by running over 
the sharp stones and through the brush. Towards the last he left 
blood at every step. His back and shoulders were sun-blistered 
almost to the bone, and so completely exhausted was he that he 
could hardly move his limbs after he was brought in. His face 
was pale, haggard, and emaciated. His eyes, which were sunken, 
gave forth a wild, despairing, unnatural light. 

“ When we were left to ourselves, we drew around the miser¬ 
able man, and, after he had somewhat revived, he told us in that 
low, calm tone of voice in which he always spoke, and which 
seldom failed to impress the listeners favorably towards the man, 
the whole story of his unfortunate attempt to escape. He told 
us he had but little time to live, and that now, after having 
made every effort to save his life and to rescue us, and failed, he 
felt reconciled and resigned to his fate. lie said he was incapable 
of doing anything more to help himself, and only regretted that 
his death could not in some way be instrumental in saving us, 
his comrades. He counselled us all against the fallacy of hoping 
for an exchange, or for any mercy from those into whose hands 
we had fallen. He said his doom foreshadowed our own, and 
entreated us to prepare for the worst, and, when the time came, 
to prove to them that we were as brave in confronting an igno¬ 
minious death for our country’s sake as we had been fearless in 
doing service for her.” 


204 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


A few more words will finish this pitiful story. 
Andrews, in Wilson’s opinion, was somewhat of a 
fatalist, or at least was haunted with a presentiment 
of coming doom from the time he had fairly entered 
upon this expedition. He had not long to wait. He 
was put back into “ the hole,” but not before a negro 
blacksmith had welded a pair of heavy fetters upon his 
ankles, and connected them with a chain only about 
eighteen inches in length. A scaffold was prepared 
for him in Chattanooga, but the indications of an ad¬ 
vance by Mitchel, and, possibly, expressions of sympa¬ 
thy on the part of the citizens, induced the authorities 
at the last moment to transfer the death-scene to At¬ 
lanta. His comrades were sent with him to that town. 
On the way to Atlanta he was taunted with his ap¬ 
proaching doom by the crowds, who surrounded every 
station. 

It was the day appointed for the execution. On 
reaching Atlanta Andrews and his eight companions 
were conducted to a second-story room, not far from 
the depot. In a little time a body of soldiers marched 
up into the building, an officer appeared at the door, 
and, while all were silent as death, said, in a low, almost 
faltering tone, “ Come on now, Mr. Andrews.” He in¬ 
stantly arose, and the low, sad “ Farewell, boys,” spoken 
in his calmest, sweetest tones, mingled with the horri¬ 
ble clanking of his chains, as he walked out with the 
short, halting step his irons compelled. This was the 
final separation. 

The survivors were conducted to the city jail of At¬ 
lanta, and there placed in an iron cage. At meal-time 
the guards told them how bravely Andrews died. His 
fortitude stilled even the clamorous spectators. The 
dying agony was protracted by the unskilfulness of 
the executioner, the rope stretching so that his feet 
touched the ground. But the earth was shovelled 
away, and the brave spirit set free. Why should the 
gallows be accounted infamous when courage and pa- 


A CONFEDERATE COURT-MARTIAL. 205 


triotism there meet a hero’s death? The cross was 
once esteemed more shameful than the gallows now, 
but one death has sanctified that instrument forever! 

The grave of Andrews at Atlanta was unmarked, 
and, in the many changes that have taken place there, 
it is probably lost forever. The most diligent search 
on the part of the writer failed to discover it. But the 
rope adjudged by the court-martial, all of whose mem¬ 
bers have passed into obscurity with the downfall of 
the rebellion they served, cannot desecrate his memory. 
No flowers can be placed on his unknown grave by 
loyal hands, but loving tears will fall freely for him as 
long as hearts can feel for the extremity of misfortune 
that gathered around the last hours of the man who 
planned and boldly executed the most romantic and 
perilous enterprise of the Great Civil War. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A CONFEDERATE COURT-MARTIAL. 

Before describing the adventures of Wollam—An¬ 
drews’ companion in flight from the Chattanooga prison 
—we will turn towards the twelve prisoners destined 
for Knoxville, where a yet more fearful tragedy was 
in preparation. 

On parting from our comrades we were escorted to 
the cars by Colonel Cleiburne, where we found, much 
to our gratification, that we were to be guarded by a 
party of Morgan’s guerrillas, whose exploits were then 
greatly celebrated. Cleiburne recommended us to the 
humane care of these partisans, saying, “ These prison¬ 
ers are men, like other men, and gentlemen too, and I 
want them treated as such.” This charge from the 
generous Irishman, for such he was, did much to secure 



206 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


courteous treatment from our guard. Indeed, the posi¬ 
tion of the irregular soldiers who served under the 
guerrilla chief was such as to make them admire rather 
than blame the bold enterprise that led to our capture. 
They were themselves in citizen’s dress, and were not 
always careful to provide uniforms before penetrating 
into the Federal lines. A considerable number of 
their comrades had been captured under such circum¬ 
stances, and were, by every rule of right, equally liable 
with ourselves to be treated as criminals. Indeed, the 
position of some of their captured comrades was still 
more questionable, for they had assumed the United 
States uniform whenever they found it to their advan¬ 
tage. The inconsistency of the rebel government in 
treating our party so harshly is conclusively shown by 
the fact that they had passed laws for the encourage¬ 
ment of just such irregular warfare. 

But we have no complaint to make of these dashing 
guerrillas. They were very indignant to see us in irons, 
and offered to be responsible for our safe-keeping if 
these were removed; but this was not allowed. 

As was common in our removals from prison to 
prison, we had been started without any rations,—not 
so much, I presume, from wanton cruelty as because 
it was no one’s especial business to furnish provisions. 
As the-journey occupied twenty-four hours (and we 
were hungry to begin with), our privation would have 
been considerable but for the generosity of Morgan’s 
men. They bought pies and whatever else they could 
find at the station eating-houses, and literally feasted 
us. From the time of our capture we had not experi¬ 
enced such treatment, and only hoped that these gen¬ 
erous enemies might have charge of us as long as we 
remained in Confederate territory,—a hope which was 
not realized. We never met them again. 

We arrived in Knoxville shortly after noon, having 
spent the night on the cars, and were marched through 
the hot, dusty streets to the city jail,—an old building 


A CONFEDERATE COURT-MARTIAL. 207 


of peculiar architecture,—solid, square, and massive, 
presenting quite an imposing appearance. It was used 
as a military prison, and was filled from top to bottom 
with ragged, dirty-looking prisoners. Some Union 
men, and several rebel soldiers who had been captured 
while attempting to desert, were with them. These 
constituted the less valued class of prisoners, and were 
permitted to range over most of the building, which, 
however, was completely encircled outside, and watched 
in every passage-way, by a strong guard. 

The class of prisoners whose offences were considered 
of a more aggravated character were shut up in cages. 
There were five of these cages, two of which were at 
once cleared for our reception. The smaller was seven 
by nine feet, and four of us were put in it. The larger 
was perhaps ten by twelve, and held the remaining 
eight. 

We arrived at Knoxville in the latter part of May, 
and remained until June 10. Outside, the weather was 
intensely warm, but the enormous mass of iron and 
stone in the walls of the prison made it comparatively 
cool within. The days here spent were not altogether 
unpleasant. Our food was scanty and of indifferent 
quality, but as long as we were allowed hope I did not 
feel much disposed to complain of this. Besides, many 
of the Union men of Knoxville, who visited us, were 
liberal in the gift of money, and by employing the ser¬ 
vices of those prisoners who were less strictly guarded, 
we were able to get many an extra loaf of bread. 

We here became acquainted with some Tennesseeans 
who were long our companions. One of the most re¬ 
markable was an old man named Pierce. He pre¬ 
sented a most peculiar appearance, having at some 
period of his history received a terrible blow with a 
gun-barrel, which left a permanent gash more than an 
inch deep clear across the forehead from the nose to 
his hair. From this circumstance he was variously 
known in the prison as “Forked Head,” “Old Gun- 


208 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


barrel/’ etc. He presented the singular combination 
of great piety and great profanity, singing hymns and 
cursing the Confederacy with equal zeal. But his 
friendship for Union soldiers knew no bounds, and, 
being very bold, he was able to render us many valu¬ 
able services. 

Another East Tennesseean, more widely known, was 
Captain Fry, of Greenville, a town near the Virginia 
boundary. He was confined in a cage, and considered 
by our guards almost equally criminal with ourselves. 
Early in the war he had gathered a number of his 
neighbors, and, running the gauntlet of guarded roads, 
succeeded in reaching our army in Kentucky. Here 
he was appointed captain of his recruits, and remained 
for some time. When an advance into East Tennessee 
through Cumberland Gap was contemplated, the Union 
general asked him to return to his home, organize the 
loyal citizens of that vicinity, burn the bridges on the 
Richmond and Knoxville Railroad, and then to keep 
possession of the mountainous region till our forces 
could arrive. With the most explicit assurances of 
speedy aid, he departed on his perilous mission. Suc¬ 
cess on his part was rapid and complete. He raised 
fifteen hundred men, obstructed all communications, 
burned the bridges, and seriously threatened Knox¬ 
ville itself. A very small Union reinforcement could 
then have rendered invaluable services, and all the 
men needed for the work were assembled not far from 
Cumberland Gap. But the attention of the military 
authorities was then turned in another direction and 
the plan of advancing into East Tennessee was accord¬ 
ingly abandoned. Ko word of the change reached 
Fry, who struggled on alone. But the odds were too 
great. An overwhelming force of the enemy was 
thrown upon him, and after several contests he and his 
brave men were forced to disperse. A few succeeded 
in reaching the loyal lines, and these mostly enlisted in 
our army. Others were captured, and many of them 


A CONFEDERATE COURT-MARTIAL. 209 

hanged as rebels! General Leadbetter was very con¬ 
spicuous in this savage work. Fry himself passed the 
whole winter in hiding among the wild mountains of 
that section, and in the spring mustered several hun¬ 
dred of those who were fugitives like himself, and tried 
to reach the Union lines. Near the border he was 
overtaken by a superior rebel force, and after a severe 
contest he was defeated, wounded, and taken prisoner. 
This was on the 5th of March, 1862, and he was kept 
in solitary confinement until placed with us on the 11th 
of June following. Captain Fry’s subsequent fortunes 
were closely united with those of our party—indeed, 
with my own—and will be related in due time. 

When I bring back in memory the minute impres¬ 
sions of those eventful days, I feel surprise that so 
many hours of comparative pleasure were found. We 
had here many persons to converse with. We had 
light and air, which we had not at Chattanooga. We 
procured newspapers with frequency, no attempt being 
made to prevent this as in other prisons, and were able 
to form some idea of the gigantic contest in which we 
were so deeply interested, and which at that time pro¬ 
gressed hopefully. We had become most intimate with 
each other, and would not allow despondency or brood¬ 
ing over trouble to take hold upon any one of our 
number. We also provided employment for each 
waking hour, and until those tragic events occurred 
which deepened the gloom around us we were compar¬ 
atively hopeful and happy. I even managed to take 
up the thread of my law studies and prosecute them 
vigorously. I sent word through a visitor to a law 
firm—Baxter & Temple—that I wanted to borrow 
“ Green leaf on Evidence,” and almost as much to my 
surprise as pleasure the volumes were promptly sent. 
The prison made quite a good study, and the spectacle 
of a man reading law in an iron cage seemed to guards 
and visitors alike an excellent jest. But I could afford 
to let them laugh, for mine was the gain, not only in 


210 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


the knowledge acquired, but in causing the prison days 
to pass less wearily. 

Before we had been long at Knoxville we were vis¬ 
ited by an officer, whom we had seen frequently in 
Chattanooga, and who told us that he was judge-advo¬ 
cate of a court-martial about to convene, and notified 
us to prepare for trial. Neither this intelligence nor 
his manner in giving it was at all alarming. We knew 
that we had been ordered to Knoxville for this very 
purpose, and were only anxious to have the trial soon 
over, that we might be formally declared prisoners of 
war, and thus be placed in position to be exchanged, if 
an opportunity should occur. To this end we asked 
the judge-advocate if we would all be put on trial at 
once, and when he answered in the negative, we urged 
the expediency and justice of that course, assuring him 
that the cases of all were precisely alike. But he re¬ 
fused with some curtness. We next asked that he 
would select one of our number to be tried, whose 
award might determine the position of the whole party, 
and offering to sign a paper agreeing to this course. 
This he also refused, with the declaration that the court 
knew its own business, and that every one of us should 
be tried on his own merits. The only reason I have 
ever been able to imagine for this course is that the in¬ 
tentions towards us were much more serious than we 
had been allowed to conjecture, and that it would have 
looked too absurd to arraign so large a band of private 
soldiers from one brigade on the charge of being spies. 
We asked him for the charge on which the trial was to 
take place, and with some apparent hesitation he gave 
it,—the same against all. It was charged, in substance, 
that we were enemies who were lurking in and around 
Confederate camps as spies for the purpose of obtain¬ 
ing military information. Not one word was said 
about seizing the cars or anything that we did or tried 
to do. Wilson spoke out boldly, and said, “ But you 
know we are not spies, and have yourself told us that 


A CONFEDERATE COURT-MARTIAL. 211 

we cannot be held as such.” Then, with what I can¬ 
not but consider as deep deception, he replied that their 
expectation now was to obtain a negative verdict, which 
would justify them in exchanging us. He further ad¬ 
vised us to employ counsel and put our cause in good 
shape, but not to make ourselves uneasy. The whole 
conversation left some apprehension upon our minds, 
but in the case of most of us the inherent hopefulness 
of youth soon banished it. 

Our plan of defence has been partly indicated before. 
It was to tell just who we were and what we had done, 
and to claim that we were United States soldiers, de¬ 
tailed on a military expedition without our own consent 
or knowledge, and simply obeying orders. We were 
to deny in the strongest terms that we had been lurk¬ 
ing about any camps, or that we had sought or obtained 
any military information. No question was to be an¬ 
swered that would lead to the discovery of the engineer 
or tend to show that any one had volunteered for this 
service. As to evidence against us, we knew that our 
recorded confessions, made when we were first brought 
to Chattanooga, could be used, and possibly the evidence 
of those who first captured us. But no one could say 
anything about our lurking around Confederate camps. 
We had been within the guard-lines at Big Shanty, but 
we were no more “ lurking” there than a body of cav¬ 
alry who might charge into a camp. Indeed, we felt 
sure that the charge, in the form it bore, could not be 
sustained. To make the greatest impression of candor, 
our story was sketched in brief, with the approval of 
the whole number, and, at a subsequent visit of the 
judge-advocate, handed to him. He took our signa¬ 
tures to it, and it was read on the trials as our confes¬ 
sion. It saved our enemies some trouble in the matter 
of witnesses, and put our case in what we judged the 
most favorable light. 

Baxter & Temple, who had so kindly accommo¬ 
dated me with books, were willing to act as our counsel. 


212 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


They stipulated that, as fast as tried, we should give 
them our notes for one hundred and fifty dollars each. 
They did not care for the money, and, indeed, the pros¬ 
pect of obtaining it was not very favorable. But their 
own safety required that their help should appear to be 
purely professional. They assured me privately that 
they were loyal to our government and would do us 
any favor they dared. They did promote our comfort 
by the secret gift of some money. 

The story of the trials may soon be told. The 
charges and specifications of William Campbell were 
first handed in. He was a citizen of Kentucky in 
reality, but claimed to be a member of Company K, 
Second Ohio, and we were careful to endorse his state¬ 
ment. It was never suspected that he stood in any 
different relation from his comrades. After the over¬ 
throw of the Confederacy the writer obtained copies 
of these charges and specifications, together with many 
other papers from the rebel archives. They are still 
on file at Washington. With the exception of the 
change of names and position in the army, the charges 
were precisely alike in all the cases. 

“ Charge .—Violation of Section 2d of the 101st Article of the 
Rules and Articles of War. 

“ Specification ls£.—In that the said William Campbell, private 
Company ‘ K,’ Second Ohio Regiment, U.S.A., not owing alle¬ 
giance to the Confederate States of America, and being in the 
service and army of the United States, then and now at war with 
the Confederate States of America, did, on or about the 7th day 
of April, 1802, leave the army of the United States, then lying 
near Shelbyville, Tennessee, and with a company of about twentv 
other soldiers of the United States army, all dressed in citizen’s 
clothes, repair to Chattanooga, Tennessee, entering covertly 
within the lines of the Confederate forces at that post, and did 
thus, on or about the 11th day of April, 18*>2, lurk as a spy in and 
about the encampment of said forces, representing himself as a 
citizen of Kentucky going to join the Southern army. 

“ Specification 2d .—And the said William Campbell, private 
Company ‘ K,’ Second Ohio Regiment, U.S.A., thus dressed in 
citizen’s clothes, and representing himself as a citizen of Ken¬ 
tucky going to join the Southern army, did proceed by railroad 
to Marietta, Georgia,—thus covertly pass through the lines of 


A CONFEDERATE COURT-MARTIAL. 213 

the Confederate forces stationed at Chattanooga, Dalton, and 
Camp McDonald, and did thus, on or about the lith day of April, 
1862, lurk as a spy in and about the said encampments of the 
Confederate forces at the places stated aforesaid.” 

All mention of the capture of the train, with the 
terrible chase that followed, is entirely omitted from 
this paper. Could this be for any other reason than 
that this sequel would disprove the fact of “ lurking as 
a spy,” on which the whole charge is made to turn, and 
make the whole expedition appear of a distinctive mili¬ 
tary character? The whole charge of “ lurking as a 
spy” was constructive—not real. No evidence could 
be adduced to show that any one of us had lingered 
for a single hour at any one of the three Confederate 
encampments mentioned. Neither was there any evi¬ 
dence that our false stories were told inside of any 
encampment. 

With charges which were simply a recital of a small 
part of our own admissions and some inference from 
them, the trials were very simple and brief. William 
Campbell was taken out first, the above paper read to 
him, and he responded, “ Not true, so far as lurking in 
any camp or being a spy is concerned.” The plea of 
“ not guilty” was then entered for him, our own confes¬ 
sion read, one or two minor witnesses called, and he re¬ 
turned to prison. The next day another man'was taken 
to the court and the same story rehearsed. Thus each 
day one trial only took place, and no pleadings were 
heard by the prisoner, either for or against himself, 
and no sentence was given. The time occupied in each 
session of the court was not much more than an hour. 
The table around which the court sat was covered with 
bottles, newspapers, and novels, and the members occu¬ 
pied tlvemselves during the proceedings in discussing 
these. All this was very well if the object was, as they 
assured us, merely to put formally on record our true 
character as prisoners of war; but it was most heartless 
if the trial was in earnest, and a matter of life or death. 


214 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


Wilson related to me a ludicrous incident that oc¬ 
curred when he was on trial. No instance of his being 
anywhere within the guard-lines was proved. A young 
lieutenant requested to be placed on the witness-stand 
to testify of one occasion when he knew that the pris¬ 
oner had passed their picket-lines. His offer was gladly 
accepted. On being sworn, he stated that he.had com¬ 
manded a picket-post which included the Chattanooga 
ferry, and this ferry the prisoner admitted passing. Im¬ 
mediately the president of the court arose and said that 
the young gentleman was mistaken, as he himself com¬ 
manded the guard that day, and that no guard was 
placed at the ferry. The whole court was thrown into 
a roar of laughter, and the confusion of our would-be 
convictor may be imagined. 

Our lawyers visited us frequently in the prison for 
the purpose of consultation, and expressed themselves 
as delighted with the turn matters were taking. No 
evidence had been found to discredit or go beyond our 
own statements. They said that all the plans of the 
prosecution had been deranged, and that if convicted 
now, it would be through mere prejudice and perjury 
on the part of the court. 

There was one feature of the trial, however, which I 
did not like, and against which we protested with all our 
power. No one who was tried was allowed to be present 
to hear the pleading of counsel on either side. We could 
neither hear what the judge-advocate urged against us 
nor what our lawyers said in our favor. Even at the 
trial of Andrews, in Chattanooga, he had not been de¬ 
barred this privilege. But in this, and one other par¬ 
ticular to be narrated later, the rebels used our soldiers 
with less show of justice than had been accorded to 
Andrews himself. 

After three or four of our number had been tried, 
one of our lawyers read to us the plea, which he said 
he had read after the trial of each man, and would con¬ 
tinue to read. It appeared to me to be a paper of great 


A CONFEDERATE COURT-MARTIAL. 215 


ability, and I cannot conceive how it could be success¬ 
fully answered. Judge-Advocate-General Holt offi¬ 
cially speaks of it as “ This just and unanswerable 
presentation of the case.” It was contended that our 
being dressed in citizen’s clothes instead of Federal 
uniforms, which was the only unmilitary incident in 
the whole history, ought not to weigh against us, be¬ 
cause this was nothing more than the Confederate gov¬ 
ernment had expressly authorized in the case of their 
own soldiers, and that making war without uniform 
was practised by all the guerrillas in the Confederate 
service,—by some from necessity, and by others because 
they were thus able better to escape detection, and in¬ 
flict more damage upon the enemy. A special instance 
was cited in which General Morgan had dressed a de¬ 
tachment of his partisans in Federal uniform, and 
passed them off as belonging to the Eighth Pennsyl¬ 
vania Cavalry, by which means he had succeeded in 
reaching and damaging a railroad within the Federal 
lines. Some of these very men were captured by the 
Federal government, and were, up to the present, held 
as prisoners of war. To decide that we were spies 
because we were captured without our uniform would 
not only provoke retaliation, but establish a principle 
far more dangerous to the Confederate than to the 
Federal forces. It was urged that we had stated the 
object of our expedition, which was a purely military 
one, and as such entirely within the laws of war. No 
evidence had been adduced to show that we were other 
than what w r e claimed. The plea closed by asking what 
good purpose could be served by sacrificing ignomini- 
ously the lives of so many brave men on a charge 
which had been conclusively disproved by the evidence, 
and which every member of the court knew to be really 
untrue. We were not spies in fact, and to call us such 
against their own convictions, and on merely technical 
and constructive grounds, would be as unwise as it was 
cruel. The plea did not embrace one argument which 


216 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


added very much to our hopefulness, and which our 
lawyers considered likely to have a great weight with 
the court, though they dared not formally state it. 
McClellan had not yet been repulsed before Richmond, 
and the collapse of the Rebellion seemed imminent. 
The same rigid construction which was necessary to 
make us spies would assuredly render them all liable to 
the punishment of treason, and they were not in a posi¬ 
tion to make it prudent to invoke the utmost severities 
and extreme penalties of the laws of war. As I glance 
back over the lapse of twenty years it still seems to me 
strange that the decision of the court-martial in our 
favor could have been for a moment doubtful. But, 
alas! reason and sound judgment do not always rule in 
human affairs. Though we knew it not then, the life 
of every man in that Knoxville prison was trembling 
in the balance. ' 

For one whole week—seven days—the trials went 
on, the same forms being used in the case of each man, 
who was taken out for an hour and returned, knowing 
nothing of his sentence, having heard no pleading 
against himself, and being treated in no sense differently 
after his trial. On the seventh day we read that General 
Mitchel had advanced to Chattanooga and was shelling 
the town across the river, and also, that the Federal Gen¬ 
eral Morgan was advancing from Cumberland Gap, and 
threatening Knoxville. We fervently hoped that the 
latter would settle the question of our fate by capturing 
the town while we were still in it. This would have 
done away with all further perplexity as to the de¬ 
cision of the court-martial! 

This advance did prevent all further trials. The 
officers of the court were hurried off to their regiments 
to resist the enemy. From the newspapers, which some 
prisoners managed to obtain every day, and then loaned 
or read to all the others, we were kept well informed 
as to the progress of events. Some oPthe intelligence 
they brought thrilled us to our souls. More than a 


A CONFEDERATE COURT-MARTIAL. 217 

week before this we read of the escape of Andrews and 
Wollam from the Chattanooga prison. We greatly re¬ 
joiced, believing firmly that our leader would be sure 
to get to our lines, and then use all his influence to se¬ 
cure some form of help for us. The news of his recap¬ 
ture overthrew all these hopes and filled us with anx¬ 
ious apprehension, although we were ignorant of his 
being sentenced to death. Of the fate of Wollam 
nothing was stated. 

But a more terrible blow was in store. One day a 
newspaper was silently passed up to our cage by some 
friend outside, and, glancing at it, the first thing that 
arrested our attention was an account of the execution of 
Andrews ! With equal silence we sent it into the other 
cage. Just before this deadly intelligence came we had 
been engaged in story-telling and in various games, for 
we were always merry, refusing to indulge in gloomy 
forebodings. But this was the sudden opening of an 
awful gulf at our feet. All noise and merriment were 
suspended, and we passed the whole day in mourning. 
We could not talk to our guards as lightly as we had 
done before, for there was now blood between us. We 
all loved Andrews, and would have undergone any 
peril to save him, but there was no possibility now 
even of vengeance. And, although his fate was gov¬ 
erned by different principles from ours, we could not 
help feeling more distrustful of our own position. 

An extra guard, bearing a great number of ropes, 
came in the morning after the last trial, and we were 
called out of our cages. This was startling, as we had 
no hint of their purpose, and the word was even passed 
around that we were all to be taken out and hanged 
immediately. But one of the outside prisoners found 
an opportunity to inform us that he had overheard the 
commander saying that he was to remove us to prevent 
our capture in case of a sudden Federal dash upon 
Knoxville. This convinced us that we were only to 
have another of our frequent changes of prisons. 

K 19 


218 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


In our cages here we had not been ironed, and, as 
our fetters had been used on some prisoners sent to 
Richmond, we were now obliged to content ourselves 
with a most liberal allowance of cotton rope. It was 
this provision for tying us which at first excited our 
apprehensions. 

While we were being securely bound I had an 
amusing passage-at-words with the adjutant, who was 
superintending that operation. I said to him, as po¬ 
litely as I could,— 

“ I suppose, sir, our destination is not known ?” 

“ It is not known to you at any rate, sir,” was the 
gruff rejoinder. 

This was noticed by the whole party, and I felt 
rather beaten; but a moment later came my chance 
for revenge. He turned again to me, and said, in a 
dictatorial manner,— 

“ Who was it that run your engine through ?” 

I bowed, and returned in the blandest tone, “That is 
not known to you at any rate , sir.” 

All the prisoners around roared with laughter, and 
the adjutant, reddening to the eyes, turned away, mut¬ 
tering that he believed I was the engineer myself! 

When the process of tying was completed to the 
adjutant’s satisfaction, we took our departure southward, 
and passed through Chattanooga once more, but, to our 
satisfaction, did not stop there. We continued south¬ 
ward, in the direction of Atlanta. No rations were 
taken for us, as usual, and having on this occasion no 
guerrillas to buy us supplies, we were obliged to fast 
the whole time. At various stations the populace 
taunted us with Andrews’ death, and charitably hoped 
we might soon meet the same fate. The remark was 
often made that we were going to Atlanta to be hanged 
there, as he had been ! Captain Fry, Pierce, and a few 
other of the East Tennesseeans were taken along with 
us. Before we reached Chattanooga, we had, as I 
thought, an excellent chance to effect our escape. The 


A CONFEDERATE COURT-MARTIAL. 219 


journey was so slow that night came on, and our guard, 
wearied with the frequent delays, had relaxed their 
vigilance, and most of them slept by our sides. They 
exceeded us in.numbers, and were armed, while we 
were tied. But our two months’ experience had made 
us adepts in some of the poor, pitiful arts prisoners 
soon learn. We could communicate without exciting 
the suspicions of the soldiers, who were sitting in the 
very seats with us, and scarcely one of our number had 
failed to so “ settle himself” in the cotton ropes that 
they could have been thrown otf at a moment’s notice. 
To be ready at a signal, to dash out the two lights that 
burned in our car, each of us to seize the musket of the 
man nearest us while the train was in motion, to secure 
the doors, and let no one get out, or make any alarm, 
seemed to me easy enough. Then we could have un¬ 
coupled our car, and, with the arms of our guard , 
have started across the country towards the Union 
lines, which could not have been more than thirty or 
forty miles west of us. But George D. Wilson opposed 
the project with all his energy. He thought we might 
succeed, but some would probably be killed in the scuf¬ 
fle, and all might be captured outside, and then our 
case be made much worse, while by simply remaining 
quiet, we were sure of a speedy exchange. He had 
talked for hours with the captain of our guard, who 
was certain that our case had been virtually decided in 
our favor. He encouraged Wilson by saying that he 
had heard officers high in authority say that it had 
been necessary to execute Mr. Andrews, as he was a 
Confederate citizen, and as an example; but that this 
was enough, and that no other would suffer anything 
worse than possibly, if no favorable exchange could be 
arranged, the penalty of being kept to the close of the 
war. This, in Wilson’s opinion, was not far distant. 
Wilson’s opposition made us regretfully yield the at¬ 
tempt. Could the future have been foreseen our de¬ 
cision would undoubtedly have been reversed. 


220 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


Atlanta, we found, was our destination. Here, al¬ 
most in the centre of the rebel States, the Confederates 
were as yet free from interruption by Union armies. 
Andrews had already perished in this city, and here 
our own fate was to be determined. As we marched, 
with ropes bound tightly round our hands and pinion¬ 
ing our arms, from the depot to the Atlanta city jail, a 
crowd gathered around us, as usual, and a man, calling 
himself the mayor of the city, addressed himself first 
to Captain Fry, telling him that he knew his history 
and would soon have the pleasure of hanging him. 
Then turning to us, he boasted that he had put the rope 
around Andrews’ neck and was waiting and anxious to 
do the same for us ! 

The city prison was much smaller than that at Knox- 
vile, but was quite a large edifice. The lower story 
was occupied by the jailer and family. The upper 
story contained four rooms, two on each side of an 
entry, into which the staircase from below led. We, in 
company with Captain Fry, were given one of these 
rooms. The other Tennesseeans brought from Knox¬ 
ville with us were put into another, just across the 
entry from us. Our comrades, who had been left be¬ 
hind at Chattanooga, had been in this building ever 
since the death of Andrews, and in the third room. 
The fourth room was on the same side as our own, and 
had a succession of occupants,—frequently negroes who 
had been in search of the North Star. This jail was 
to be our home for many eventful months. 

For some days our food was comparatively good and 
abundant. Turner, the jailer, was a kind man, and, in 
a mild way, of Union sentiments. He -showed us all 
the favor in his power, and, indeed, became so much 
suspected that an odious old man named Thoer was 
sent to watch him. The change in our condition was 
at once manifest. Our fare became worse and more 
scanty than in any former prison. The constant vigi¬ 
lance of this spy kept the jailer from doing anything 


THE CROWNING HORROR. 


221 


to mitigate our sufferings. But in this prison we had 
one great relief. Our ropes were removed and no 
chains or handcuffs put upon us. Within our prison¬ 
cell we were free. Here we remained in quiet for a 
week, thinking the worst of our trials now over. Little 
did we imagine how fearful a storm was about to 
burst over us. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

THE CROWNING HORROR. 

The event described in this chapter will never be 
effaced from the memory of any witness. Nothing 
more terrible or more gratuitously barbarous is recorded 
in the annals of civilized war. The seven men of 
whose death I am now to write were all young,—from 
eighteen to twenty-five. With good prospects, and 
well connected, they had entered the army at the bid¬ 
ding of patriotism, ready to endure every peril to in¬ 
sure the triumph of the old flag. Their only offence, 
when stripped of all technicality, was that of accepting 
a dangerous service proposed by their own officers. 
They had entered on this service in the same spirit that 
they would have obeyed an order to head a desperate 
charge on the enemy’s fortifications. Had they perished 
in the enterprise itself, their fate would have been but 
the common fortune of war. But more than two 
months had passed since they had been in the power 
of their enemies, who had repeatedly testified admira¬ 
tion for their heroism, as well as for their gallant bear¬ 
ing in captivity. Prominent officers had held friendly 
conversations with them and assured them of ultimate 

safety. Now, without a moment’s warning- But 

I must not anticipate the narration. 

One day—the 18th of June, 1862---while amusing 
19 * 




222 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


ourselves with games and stories in our prison-cell, we 
saw through the barred window a squadron of cavalry 
approaching. This only excited a languid curiosity at 
first, for it was a common thing to see bodies of horse¬ 
men in the streets; but soon we saw them halt before 
the gate of the high prison-wall and throw a line of 
soldiers completely round the building. This was no 
ordinary occurrence. What could it portend ? 

A moment after we heard the clink of the officers’ 
swords as they ascended the prison stairway in unusual 
numbers, while we waited the event with deep solici¬ 
tude. They paused at our door, which was unlocked 
by the jailer, and the names of the seven who had 
been tried at Knoxville were called over, one by one, 
and each man as he was called led out of the room. 
Samuel Robinson was very sick with fever, and was 
not able to rise without assistance, but two guards 
helped him to his feet, and he was taken out with the 
others. Then the door opposite to ours, on the other 
side of the hall, was opened, and the Tennesseeans in 
that room put with us, while our comrades, with the 
whole number of officers, went into the vacated room, 
and the door was closed. 

With throbbing veins we asked one another the 
meaning of these strange proceedings. A confused 
sound was heard through the closed door opposite, as 
of some one reading, but we could distinguish no 
words. Some of us supposed they were taken in there 
to receive their acquittal; others, still more sanguine, 
maintained that they were now being paroled, prepara¬ 
tory to an exchange. 

I was also suffering with malarial fever at that time, 
but rose to my feet oppressed with a nameless fear. A 
half-idiotic man who was among the Tennessee prison¬ 
ers came to me and wanted to play a game of cards. I 
struck the greasy pack out of his hands, and bade him 
leave me. 

Our terrible suspense was not of long duration. The 


THE CROWNING HORROR. 


223 


door opened and George D. Wilson entered first, his 
hands and arms firmly bound, and his face pale as 
death, but with form erect and firm step. Some one 
asked in a whisper a solution of the dreadful mystery, 
for his countenance had appalled every one. 

“ We are to be executed, immediately /” was the awful 
reply, whispered with thrilling distinctness. 

Behind him came the others, all tied, ready for the 
scaffold ! They were to be hanged at once. Not a day 
nor an hour was given for preparation. From their 
hopefulness and fancied security they were snatched in 
a moment to die as felons! Surely no rule of war, no 
military necessity, no consideration of policy, required 
such frightful and murderous haste. I have never 
heard a word in defence of this military massacre. 
Even Andrews, our leader, was given a week for prep¬ 
aration before the execution of his sentence. The 
most atrocious criminals are always allowed a short 
r&pite. For a long time I cherished the belief that 
some misunderstanding of orders, some terrible error, 
and not deliberate cruelty, led to this frightful haste. 
But the foil owing death-sentence seems to leave no room 
for doubt. In the very centre of the Confederacy, 
with hundreds of troops at their disposal for guards, 
there could have been no military necessity for hurling 
these poor men into eternity without one hour’s warn¬ 
ing ! 

The following is a literal copy of the death-sentence 
read to the doomed men during the few minutes they 
were separated from us: 

“ Headquarters Department East Tennessee, 
“Knoxville, June 14, 1862. 

“ General Orders , No. 54. VII. 

“At a general court-martial held at Knoxville by virtue of 
General Orders Nos. 21 and 84 (Department Headquarters, April 
15 and May 10, 1862), whereof Lieutenant-Colonel J. B. Bibb, 
of the Twenty-third Kegiment Alabama Volunteers, was presi¬ 
dent, was tried George D. Wilson, private Company ‘B,’ Second 


224 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


Ohio Regiment, on the following charge and specifications, to 
wit: 

“ Charge. —Violation of Section 2d of the 101st Article of the 
Rules and Articles of War. 

“Specification 1st. —In this, that the said George D. Wilson, 
private Company ‘ B,’ Second Ohio Regiment, not owing allegi¬ 
ance to the Confederate States of America, and being in the 
service and army of the United States, then and now at war with 
the Confederate States of America, did, on or about the 7th day 
of April, 1862, leave the army of the United States, then lying 
near Shelby ville, Tennessee, and with a company of about twenty 
other soldiers of the United States army, all dressed in citizen's 
clothes, repair to Chattanooga, Tennessee, entering covertly 
within the lines of the Confederate forces at that post, and did 
thus, on or about the 11th day of April, 1862, lurk as a spy in 
and about the encampment of said forces, representing himself 
as a citizen of Kentucky going to join the Southern army. 

“Specification 2d. —And the said George D. Wilson, private 
Company ‘ B,’ Second Ohio Regiment, U.S.A., thus dressed in 
citizen’s clothes, and representing himself as a citizen of Ken¬ 
tucky going to join the Southern army, and did proceed by rail¬ 
road to Marietta, Georgia,—thus covertly pass through the lines 
of the Confederate forces stationed at Chattanooga, Dalton, and 
Camp McDonald, and did thus, on or about the 11th day of 
April, 1862, lurk as a spy in and about the said encampments # of 
the Confederate forces at the places stated aforesaid. 

“ To which charge and specifications the prisoner plead ‘ Not 
Guilty.’ 

“ The court, after mature deliberation, find the accused as fol¬ 
lows : Of the 1st specification of the charge, ‘Guilty.’ Of the 
2d specification of the charge, ‘Guilty,’ and ‘Guilty of the 
Charge.’ And the court do therefore sentence the accused, the 
said George D. Wilson, private Company ‘ B,’ Second Ohio Regi¬ 
ment (two-thirds of the members concurring therein), as soon 
as this order shall be made public, ‘ to be hung by the neck until 
he is dead.’ 

“ The proceedings in the foregoing case of George D. Wilson, 
private Company ‘ B,’ Second Ohio Regiment, are approved. 

“The sentence of the court will be carried into effect between 
the 15th and 22d days of June, inst., at such time and place as 
may be designated by the commanding ofiBcer at Atlanta, Georgia, 
who is charged with the arrangements for the proper execution 
thereof 

“ By command of 

“ Major-General E. Kirby Smith. 

“ J. F. Breton, A.A.A.G. 

“ To Commanding OfiBcer of post at Atlanta, Ga.” 


It will be noticed that the sentence was to be exe- 


THE CROWNING HORROR. 


225 


cuted as soon as made public. The time fixed was be¬ 
tween the 15th and 22d days of June. This was the 
18th. The sentence had been received the preceding 
day, and the time employed in clearing a spot of wooded 
ground then lying east of the city cemetery, but since 
included in its bounds, and in erecting a scaffold there. 
But no word of the awful preparations had been allowed 
to reach us. According to the orders of General E. 
Kirby Smith, several days’ respite might have been al¬ 
lowed ; but in a communication to the Confederate Sec¬ 
retary of War, Colonel G. I. Foreacre, post-commander 
at Atlanta, says, t( General Smith only sent from Knox¬ 
ville instructions and orders to have seven of them 
hung, which was promptly attended to by myself.” 

After the sentences had been read came the farewells, 
—which, in their full meaning, we could scarcely rea¬ 
lize,—farewells with no hope of meeting again in this 
world! Our comrades were dear as brothers to us, and 
to stand helpless while they were dragged away to the 
scaffold froze our blood and crushed our hearts. 

These doomed men were brave. On the battle-field 
they had never faltered in the presence of danger. 
They were ready to die, if need were, for their country; 
but to die on the scaffold,—to die as murderers die,— 
this was almost too much for human nature to endure. 

Then, too, they were destitute of the best support a 
man can have in the presence of death. Although 
most of them had been of excellent moral character, 
yet they had no firmly-grounded religious hope. The 
near prospect of eternity, into which they were thus to 
be hurled without a moment’s preparation, was black 
and appalling. Wilson had been a professed disbe¬ 
liever in revelation, and many a time had argued with 
me for hours at a time. But in this awful moment he 
said to me, “ Pittenger, I believe you are right now! 
Oh, try to be better prepared, when your turn comes to 
die, than I am !” Then laying his hand on my head, 
with a muttered “ God bless you!” we parted. I saw 
P 


226 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


no more the one I had loved and trusted as few others 
in the world. 

Shadrack was profane in speech and reckless in ac¬ 
tion, but withal exceeding kind-hearted, lovable, and 
always merry. Now turning to us with a voice the 
forced calmness of which was more affecting than a 
wail of agony, he said, “ Boys, I am not prepared to 
meet my Jesus.” When asked by some of us, in tears, 
to trust in His mercy, and to think of heaven, he an¬ 
swered, still in tones of thrilling calmness, “ I’ll try! 
I’ll try ! But I know I am not prepared.” 

Samuel Slavens, who was a man of immense strength 
and iron resolution, turned to his friend Buffum, and 
could only articulate, “ Wife—children—tell—” when 
utterance failed. 

John Scott had been married oply three days before 
he came to the army, and the thought of his young and 
sorrowing wife nearly drove him to despair. He could 
only clasp his hands in silent agony. 

William Campbell smiled grimly as we pressed his 
bound hands, and said in response to our declarations, 
“ Yes, boys, this is hard.” 

Marion Ross bore himself most firmly of all. He 
had been more gloomy and depressed than any other 
member of the party previously, and did not seem to 
share fully in our hopes. Now his eyes beamed with 
unnatural light, and there was not a tremor in his voice 
as he said, in full, clear tones, “ Tell them at home, if 
any of you should escape, that I died for my country, 
and did not regret it.” 

These parting words occupied but a moment, and 
even then the officers standing in the door seemed im¬ 
patient to finish their horrible work ! 

In this manner the poor men were hurried to their 
doom. Several of them, in passing, had the privilege 
of shaking hands with our comrades in the other room. 
Robinson, though too sick to walk, was dragged away 
with them. 


THE CROWNING HORROR. 


227 


Thus we parted. The rough wagon, with a wood- 
rack for a bed, drove off with our comrades, surrounded 
by cavalry. In about an hour it came back, empty. 
The deed of shame was done. 

Later in the evening the provost-marshal came to 
our door, and, in response to eager questions, informed 
us that our friends “ had met their fate as brave men 
should die everywhere.” 

The next day we obtained from the guards, who, in 
the absence of their officers, were always willing to 
talk with us, full particulars of the sevenfold murder. 

When all had been mounted on the scaffold Wilson 
asked permission to say a few words, which was granted, 
—probably in the hope of hearing some kind of a con¬ 
fession. If such was the expectation, they were much . 
disappointed. It was a strange scene,—a dying speech 
to a desperate audience, and under the most terrible 
circumstances conceivable. 

But Wilson was equal to the occasion, and when he 
had once begun to speak, the force of his words was 
such that the mob remained silent, making no attempt 
to interrupt him. Unterrified by the near approach 
of death, he spoke his mind freely. He told the rebels 
that they were all in the wrong, that he had no hard 
feelings towards the Southern people for what they 
were about to do, because they had been duped by their 
leaders, and induced by them to engage in the work 
of rebellion. He also said that though he had been 
condemned as a spy, yet he was none, and they well 
knew it. He was only a soldier in the performance 
of the work he had been detailed to do; that he did 
not regret to die for his country, but only regretted the 
manner of his death. He concluded by assuring them 
in prophetic words that they would yet live to regret 
the part they had taken in this rebellion, and would 
see the flag of our country wave in triumph over the 
very ground occupied by his scaffold. 

This address made a deep impression on the minds 


228 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


of all who listened, and I often afterwards heard it 
spoken of in terms of deepest admiration. When he 
ceased the signal was given, and the traps fell! 

Then followed one of the disgusting exhibitions 
which so often disgrace all kinds of public executions. 
Five only remained dangling in the air. Campbell 
and Slavens, being very heavy, broke their ropes, and 
fell to the ground insensible. When they revived, 
they asked and received a drink of water. Then they 
requested an hour to pray before entering the future 
world. This most reasonable petition, which would 
not have been denied to the most hardened murderer 
under civilized rule, was sternly denied, as if they 
wished to do their utmost to murder both soul and 
. body. As soon as the ropes could be readjusted they 
were compelled to mount the scaffold once more, and 
were again turned off. 


CHAPTER XY. 

PRISON RELIGION. 

The afternoon following the execution of our brave 
comrades was one of indescribable sorrow, gloom, and 
fear. We knew not how soon we might be compelled 
to follow in the same path and drink the same bitter 
cup. As has been before narrated, we had offered at 
Knoxville to accept the award of the court in one of 
the cases as the sentence of all, since there was not the 
slightest difference among us. At that time, however, 
we were confident of acquittal. Now that confidence 
had utterly vanished, and no one of our number antici¬ 
pated anything but speedy death on the scaffold. 

But even without the addition of apprehension for 
ourselves, the parting from our loved friends, whose 
voices were still ringing in our ears, while they them- 



PRISON RELIGION. 


229 


selves had passed beyond the gates of death into the 
unknown land of shadows, was enough to rend the 
stoutest heart. Few words were spoken, but tears and 
sobs were frequent. 

I could not shed a tear. A fierce fever burned in 
my veins, and my head seemed as if on fire. For 
hours I scarcely knew where I was, or the loss I had 
sustained. Every glance around the room, which re¬ 
vealed the vacant place of our friends, would bring 
our sorrow in a new wave upon us again. Slowly the 
afternoon wore on in grief too deep for words, and 
despair too black for hope. 

At last some voice suggested prayer. We had no 
chaplain, and few of us were professedly religious, but 
the very thought of prayer seemed to bring relief, and 
was eagerly accepted. We knelt around the bare 
prison-walls, as so many prisoners have done before, 
and tried to draw near to God. We felt as if already 
cut off from the world. Captain Fry first prayed 
aloud. His voice was broken by sobs, but he did not 
now pray for the first time, and we felt our faith lean¬ 
ing on his as he poured out strong supplications for 
that Almighty help we so sorely needed. He prayed 
that God’s love might be revealed to us, and that we 
might be able to trust the Saviour even on the gallows. 
When he ceased another took up the thread of petition. 
After him, another and another followed, until all but 
two had prayed aloud, and even these were kneeling 
and sobbing with the rest. As the twilight deepened, 
our devotional exercises grew more solemn. In the 
lonely shadow of coming night, with eternity thus 
tangibly open before us, and standing on its very 
brink, we prayed with inconceivable fervor. These 
exercises continued far into the night, and wrought 
their effect deeply in our hearts. From that night I 
recognized God’s right to my allegiance. I did accept 
Christ as my Saviour, and determined to confess His 
name before men, whether I lived or died. This reso- 


230 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE . 


lution in my own case—and I doubt not the same re¬ 
sult was produced in other hearts—restored the forti-. 
tilde that had been so rudely shaken, and I felt nerved 
for any fate. Strangely enough, with this resignation 
to the worst came the glimmer of a hope, unfelt before, 
that possibly life might yet be spared. 

This hour wrought a complete and permanent change 
in the routine of our prison-life. Games, sports, and 
stories were no longer our leading pursuits. The cards 
we had been accustomed to play for pastime only—an 
old greasy pack obtained from the compassion of some 
soldier on guard—were thrown out of the window, and 
that game given up forever. Each morning and each 
evening we had a prayer-meeting,—not simply a single 
prayer, but all praying in turn. We asked for and 
obtained a Bible from the jailer, and read a chapter or 
more as part of our exercises, and sang hymns, so that 
our meetings became as much like those we had wit¬ 
nessed in the distant but never forgotten days of freedom 
as we could make them. There was wonderful pathos in 
the very rudeness of the singing, for our sweetest voices 
were silent in death. The remark was often made, 
“ If Ross was only here to lead the singing !” The 
one who read the Bible lesson was considered the leader 
of the meeting, and, for a time, we took this position 
by turns. In place of “ Do they miss me at Home ?” 
we sang the more inspiring and helpful “ Jesus, Lover 
of my Soul,” and “ Rock of Ages.” The jailer, the 
guards, and all who came near the prison noticed the 
great change. 

I had one peculiar difficulty which, to many readers, 
will appear almost whimsical, but to me was most real. 
Our hope of ever regaining liberty, or even preserv¬ 
ing our lives much longer, was but slight; yet my 
greatest difficulty in finding satisfactory religious con¬ 
solation had reference to a possible release. I had been 
a diligent law student, and had managed to continue 
the study even in the army and in prison. But now it 


PRISON RELIGION. 


231 


was impressed upon my mind, with daily increasing 
force, that I must submit the decision of my future 
career to God. If I took this matter into my own 
hands, I could not feel that I was completely true to 
Him. Underlying this feeling was the further con¬ 
viction that if I made such a submission of my future 
profession to God I would be led into the ministry, and 
the thought of this was very repulsive. Yet the longer 
the struggle continued the plainer duty became. If I 
gave myself to Christ, it seemed a necessary consequence 
that I should accept any work He gave me to do. If 
I feared that He would guide me in a certain direction, 
this was sure proof that I was not resigned to His will, 
and, according to my views, not a true Christian. At 
last the choice was made,—I resolved to follow my 
sense of duty, no matter where that should lead,—to 
the ministry or anywhere else. When this conflict was 
over there was no great emotional excitement,—only a 
sense of peace and rest. I could wait calmly in the 
prison until led forth to die, if such should be my 
doom, and then go forth out of life feeling that I was 
loyal to God, and that I should remain His, into what¬ 
ever worlds the gate of death should open. If, con¬ 
trary to all probability, the prison-gate should open for 
my passage back into the free world, from which I 
seemed almost as effectually separated as if death had 
already intervened, I promised still to be loyal to Him. 
This was the essence of the inward change I date from 
that time. My standard of action before had been 
pleasure, inclination, the world’s notion of honor and 
morality. Even this had not been held too strictly, as 
the reader of these pages has discovered. But after¬ 
wards, however imperfectly maintained, my standard 
became the will of God, as revealed in the Bible, and 
my own sense of duty as enlightened by His Spirit. 
No great joy, such as is often expressed in conversion, 
came at first. But it was even better than any joy to 
feel that I now had a strong arm upon which I could 


232 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


lean,—that there was one person to whom I could go 
at any time, and who was not indifferent to my fate. 

I now read the Bible with a clear purpose, and with 
a light on its pages that never before beamed there. Its 
very history was full of new meaning. Its grand be¬ 
ginning, the growth of wandering tribes into great em¬ 
pires, the pathos of the Psalms, the sublimity and eternal 
hope of the prophecies, and, above all, the life and death 
of that loving and lowly man who was greater than 
Psalmist or Prophet,—all these passed before me in the 
old Atlanta jail, until the place seemed like a new isle of 
Patmos. I had a strong bent towards scepticism, though 
I had not yielded to it, and found it hard to exercise sim¬ 
ple faith in all the Word of God. But, little by little, my 
doubts became weaker and my conviction of truth clearer. 

For a considerable time the whole of our party took 
turns in the leadership of our devotions, but finally 
this work devolved on the writer, and, after some 
months, the guards and other prisoners began to call 
me the “ preacher,” though, as yet, I was a member of 
no church, unless our prison band can be dignified by 
that title. 

Two Southern ministers visited us at this period. 
The first requested permission of the guard, and was 
allowed to enter with the express provision that his 
conversation should be confined to religious topics. 
His name was Scott, but I am not sure what denomi¬ 
nation he belonged to, and his conversation gave no 
clue. His first question did not contribute to a good 
understanding. He asked how we could be so wicked 
as to enter the Federal army, to fight against the South¬ 
ern people and free their negroes? We were sorry 
enough about many things, but had not yet repented 
of those particular sins, and therefore answered a little 
tartly, by asking how he and his friends could be so 
wicked as to rebel against a good government? A 
heated dispute followed. Our visitor talked so loudly 
and vehemently that the officer of the guard entered 


PRISON RELIGION. 


233 


and told him that he “had given those men religious 
counsel enough for one time and had better leave.” He 
never came again, and we were not sorry. 

Our jailer, Mr. Turner, had a very kindly feeling 
towards us, and hearing us so often singing and praying, 
asked if we would not like to talk with a minister. 
Knowing that ministers were not all alike, we assented. 
Rev. George G. N. MacDonell, of the M. E. Church 
South, then visited us. We were glad to see him, and 
a very profitable conversation took place. A little 
offence was occasioned by his first prayer, in which he 
petitioned that our lives might be spared, if consistent 
with the interests of the Confedei'ctcy. But we made no 
comment, and were richly rewarded for our com¬ 
placency. He not only gave us Christian sympathy 
and counsel above all value, but on leaving sent us 
some excellent books. When the first lot of books was 
finished—of which we took the best of care, reading 
most of them aloud—we returned them, and received 
others,—continuing the process of borrowing until we 
had perused nearly the whole of the good man’s 
library. Only those who know what a terrible trial 
it is to pass day after day with no definite employ¬ 
ment, no company, and no means of diverting thought 
from one never-ending round, can form any idea of the 
great boon thus bestowed upon us. The Christian 
kindness and disinterested benevolence of this min¬ 
ister will never be forgotten. But even these books 
were not sufficient. I sold my vest—not expecting 
to live until cold weather—and my pocket-book,— 
which my captors had left when they took all its con¬ 
tents,—and with the proceeds the jailer bought me 
three little books—all gems,—“ Paradise Lost,” “ Pil¬ 
grim’s Progress,” and Pollok’s “Course of Time.” 
These I deliberately set to work to memorize. It was 
a pleasant and profitable employment, helping very 
much to shorten those interminable days. 

Our room was of greater size than that in Cliatta- 
20 * 


234 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


nooga; the windows larger, and our number reduced ; 
yet the heat was fearfully oppressive. One of the 
party, Mark Wood, was very sick. He had been pros¬ 
trated with fever for nearly a month, and at this time 
his life was despaired of. This was not thought by the 
others to be any great misfortune to him, and they ac¬ 
cordingly administered consolation in a style worthy 
the best of Job’s friends. They would say, “Now, 
Wood, I wouldn’t try to get well, if I were in your 
place. They will only hang you if you do. Better 
try to die and save them the trouble.” Wood, how¬ 
ever, did not relish this counsel, and, becoming con¬ 
trary, he recovered, “just for spite,” as he often de¬ 
clared. 

The black waiters of the prison were very friendly. 
They assisted us by every means in their power, and 
seemed willing to take any personal risk on our behalf. 
It was not long before they found that we desired few 
things so much as to read the news, and they tasked 
their ingenuity to gratify us. Newspapers were pro¬ 
hibited, as they had not been at Knoxville. But the 
waiters would w T atch until the jailer or some of the 
guard had finished reading a paper and laid it dowm, 
when they would slyly purloin it, put it into the 
bottom of the pan in which our food was brought, 
and thus hand it to us unsuspected. It had to be re¬ 
turned in the same way to avoid suspicion. Our min¬ 
isterial friend also, as he acquired confidence in us, 
gave us reason to think that he w r as not so much de¬ 
voted to the Confederacy as his first prayer (made 
in hearing of the guard) indicated. He asked per¬ 
mission of the jailer to give us some old files of re¬ 
ligious papers, and sent in a bundle weekly, or oftener. 
They were acceptable, but their value greatly increased 
vdien w r e found that an old religious paper might have 
a new daily folded carefully inside! These acts of 
friendship were deeply grateful to us, and lightened 
many a weary hour. 


PRISON RELIGION. 


235 


One morning our jailer came to our door and asked 
if we knew John Wollam. We were startled, and 
hesitated to answer. For three weeks we had heard 
nothing of Wollam, and hoped that one member of our 
devoted band had escaped. Now we knew that the 
jailer was in possession of some news, and while we 
burned to hear it, we feared the possibility of doing 
Wollam an injury by acknowledging the acquaintance. 
But while we deliberated John himself came up, and 
put an end to our doubts by greeting us heartily. The 
door was unlocked, and he entered. All the survivors 
of our party were now together, as those who had been 
separated from us at Chattanooga were put into our 
room immediately after the execution of our comrades. 
Our number, including Captain Fry, who remained in 
our room, was fifteen. 

The first thing in order, when left alone, was for 
John to tell us all his adventures from the time he and 
Andrews had broken out of the Chattanooga dungeon. 
He was fired upon while still suspended in the air by 
the blankets upon which he was descending, but for¬ 
tunately the hands of the guards were too unsteady to 
inflict any injury. He succeeded in getting safely to 
the ground, and then out of the prison-yard and through 
the guard-line. 

In his efforts to escape Wollam displayed qualities 
which would have done credit to an Indian. A few 
moments’ running brought him down to the river-side 
in advance of all pursuers. Finding no means of 
crossing, the brilliant thought struck him of making 
his enemies believe he had crossed. This idea was in¬ 
stantly acted on. He threw off his coat and vest, 
dropping them on the bank of the river, and then 
walked a few rods in the water to throw any hounds 
that might be following off his track. He next slipped 
quietly back and hid in a dense thicket of canes and 
rushes. He heard his pursuers on the bank above him, 
and all around, talking of their various plans. At last 


236 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


they found the clothes, and at once concluded that he 
had taken to the river. Accordingly they ferried the 
blood-hounds to the other side, and searched for the 
place of his exit from the water. As might be ex¬ 
pected, the dogs were unable to find that, and after a 
due time spent in consultation, the Confederates con¬ 
cluded that he had been drowned and gave over the 
search. 

Wollam spent the day in great anxiety, but night 
gave him the opportunity of leaving his hiding-place. 
He made his way cautiously down the river on the 
Chattanooga side for some miles. At length he found 
a canoe, in which he drifted down the stream by night, 
while hiding it and himself in the bushes by day. On 
two occasions he would have been saved if he had only 
known it. General Mitchel had captured a steam¬ 
boat and fitted it up as a cruiser, with which he patrolled 
the river as far as his lines extended. In his night- 
voyaging Wollam passed this extemporized gunboat 
twice, but fearing that it was some rebel craft, he crept 
quietly by in the shadow of the shore without discovery. 

At length he felt sure that he was inside the Union 
lines, and beyond the probable danger of capture, 
and therefore ventured boldly forward in the daytime. 
This was a fatal mistake. The danger of capture is 
never so great as in the debatable ground between two 
armies, where both exercise their utmost vigilance. 
This boundary in most cases is also a shifting one. It 
was so in this instance. A band of rebel cavalry on the 
shore saw the lonely voyager, and, riding on ahead, pro¬ 
cured a boat and came out to meet him. He was un¬ 
able to escape, and thus the poor fellow was captured on 
the very brink of safety. As usual, he tried to persuade 
them that he was a Confederate, but unfortunately a 
certain Lieutenant Edwards, who had assisted in his 
previous capture, happened to be present, and at once 
recognized him by his bold and reckless bearing. He 
was then taken to join us at Atlanta. 


PRISON RELIGION. 


237 


Our provisions here became worse and less, until the 
starvation point was very nearly reached. Constant 
hunger was one of the torments of our life. We only 
received a very small fragment of half-baked corn- 
bread, without salt, and a morsel of pork,—the latter 
always spoiled, and frequently covered with maggots. 
But none of it was wasted ! Several had very little 
appetite, because of malarial or intermittent fever. 
The allowance of such food was abundant for these, 
but the others ate all that the sick spared. Many a 
Barmecide feast was spread by the description of rich 
dainties that would be enjoyed if a at home” once more; 
and what was even worse, the same banquets would 
be spread in dreams, from which the tantalized sleep¬ 
ers awoke more hungry and miserable than ever. I 
am not sure that the aching head and burning fever 
were more painful than the constant pangs of unsatis¬ 
fied hunger. However, I need not linger over these 
details. In the mere matter of starving I presume we 
suffered no more than thousands of our fellow-soldiers 
in Andersonville and other prisons. Alfred Wilson, 
whose iron constitution bore up well under all hard¬ 
ships, and whose appetite was always good enough for 
all the rations of every kind he could get, felt these 
privations most keenly. He says of the food that it was 
u almost enough to convulse the stomach of a hungry 
dog. I have found by experience, and I think I will 
be corroborated by all the men who have been in rebel 
prisons and have suffered the protracted pangs of hunger 
and starvation, that man, when forced to it, is as raven¬ 
ous, reckless, unreasonable, and brutish in his appetite 
as the lowest order of animal creation.” In other 
prisons, it was not uncommon for the inmates to fight 
over their miserable allowance; but our common sym¬ 
pathy and discipline were so strong that few disputes 
arose, and these were quickly settled by the general 
voice. The religious influence that had grown up 
in our midst also tended powerfully to prevent any 


238 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


interference of the stronger with the rights of the 
weaker. 

Indeed, the completeness of our voluntary discipline 
and the systematic manner in which we employed our 
time was little less than marvellous. To sleep was 
always in order, when possible, but the disposal of 
waking hours was not left to the will of each person. 
The only game permitted was that of checkers or drafts, 
and over the rude board carved on the floor eager play¬ 
ers bent during all the hours allotted to amusement. 
Then we had a couple of hours daily for debating, and 
discussed questions of every kind. No little ingenuity 
and skill were thus exercised. Often great political 
questions occupied our attention, and evoked real and 
strong differences of opinion. Strange as it may seem, 
there were but two of us—Buffum and myself—who 
avowed ourselves out and out abolitionists. The name 
had not yet lost all its reproach, but we held our own 
in argument, especially when we pointed out the natural 
result of slavery in making men barbarous and in¬ 
human even to whites, as illustrated in our condition. 
That argument never failed to give us the advantage! 

We also set aside two hours in the forenoon and two 
in the afternoon for reading. During this time not so 
much as a whisper was permitted, and few schools have 
kept better discipline. Any one not wishing to read 
was permitted to sleep or occupy himself in any quiet 
manner. Frequently some one was selected to read 
aloud for a time, but this only took place by general 
consent, that those who wished to read silently plight 
be undisturbed. The extraordinary character of these 
exercises will be better appreciated when it is remem¬ 
bered that we had no “ light reading,” but mainly the¬ 
ological works, with a few volumes of travels, biogra¬ 
phy, and poetry,—-just what the good minister’s library 
could furnish, for we read everything we could get. 
The Bible was not forgotten. When the supply of 
books ran short, we resorted to our memories. All the 


PRISON RELIGION. 


239 


prominent incidents of our lives had been told in our 
terribly close association, and we next began to repeat 
for the common benefit the books we had read so far as 
we could remember them. One night about dark I 
began to tell something about a weird book I had read 
a few months previously. A few questions elicited 
fuller detail, and it was after midnight before the story 
was finished. Buffum, especially, was so deeply im¬ 
pressed that when released he took the earliest oppor¬ 
tunity of getting and reading the volume, but he gave 
me a great compliment by saying that the original was 
not half so good as the copy. The changed circum¬ 
stances, perhaps, made a more natural, if less flattering, 
explanation of his diminished interest. We also had 
our regular hours for gymnastic exercise,—wrestling, 
boxing, acrobatic feats, etc. One of our party, Haw¬ 
kins, having once been connected with a circus, now 
trained us in all the exercises that our enfeebled con¬ 
dition 'and close quarters permitted. Much of the 
health and vigor that we retained during so long an 
imprisonment was due to our systematic and diversified 
employments. 

This careful division of time, and endeavor after 
constant employment, was, doubtless, of great advan¬ 
tage, but it could not change the fact that we were close 
prisoners in a stifling room, and far from our home. 
Those summer days, as month after month glided away, 
were terribly long and oppressive. The tediousness and 
vain longing for action pressed upon us more and more 
closely. We fought the dreadful weight with all the 
strength of our wills, but even will-power grew feebler. 
The engineer Brown, who was one of the most restless 
of mortals, all nerve and fire in action, capable of en¬ 
during tremendous hardship if it were only of an active 
character, would pace the floor back and forth like a 
caged tiger; when this, too, grew unendurable, he 
would stop at the door, shake its woven iron bars till 
they rang again, and say in the most piteous tones (of 


240 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


course, meant only for us to hear), “ Oh, kind sir, please 
let me out! I want to go home!” The feeling he 
expressed was shared by all. Never before could I 
realize the full value of liberty and the horror of con¬ 
finement. In previous prisons the novelty of our sit¬ 
uation, the frequent removals, the painful excitement 
of trials, prevented the blank monotony of imprison¬ 
ment from settling down upon us as it did here, after 
the first few weeks of our stay in Atlanta rolled by, 
and no whisper regarding our probable fate reached us. 
It was like the stillness and death that brood over the 
Dead Sea! 

We would sit at the windows in the sultry noon and 
look out through the bars at the free birds as they flew 
past, seemingly so full of joyous life, and foolishly wish 
that we were birds, that we, too, might fly far away and 
be free. 

At long intervals, two of us at a time would be per¬ 
mitted to go down into the jail-yard to do some wash¬ 
ing for ourselves and the party. This great privilege 
came round to me at last. It was then three months 
since I had stepped out of that prison room, and the 
unobscured vision of open air and sky made it seem 
like another world. I remember looking up at the 
snowy clouds, my eyes dazzled by the unusual light, 
and wondering, as I gazed in admiration upon their 
beautiful and changing forms, whether beyond them 
lay a world of rest in which there were neither wars 
nor prisons. Oh, how I longed for freedom! to be 
where I could look up at the sky every day and go 
where I wished ! Yet with the thought came a great 
fear. If I was ever removed from the pressure of im¬ 
mediate danger, and allowed to mingle in the interests 
and cares of the thronging world, might I not forget 
my prison-made vows and lose my claim to the world 
beyond the clouds and stars ? Such a sense of weak¬ 
ness and helplessness came over me that I felt greatly 
relieved when, my task being done, I was conducted 


PRISON RELIGION. 


241 


back to the dark and narrow prison room, where the 
contrast between freedom and bondage was less palpa¬ 
ble ! 

All this time we hardly permitted ourselves to in¬ 
dulge a hope of getting home again. The friends we 
had known in happier days were separated from us by 
an impassable gulf; and when fancy called round us 
the loved scenes and friends at home, it was like tread¬ 
ing upon forbidden ground. But when the long day 
had dragged its hours away, when we were weary with 
fighting against weariness, the night removed every re¬ 
straint, and for a few golden hours love and freedom 
were ours again. 

Often in dreams have I seen the streets and build¬ 
ings of my own town rise before me, and have felt a 
thrilling pleasure in contemplating each feature of the 
landscape around as I wended my way in fancy towards 
the old log cabin forever consecrated by affection. But 
the waking from such dreams of earthly paradise was 
sad beyond measure. The evening hour, when the 
burning heat had abated, and when we were settling to 
rest,—though it was on the bare floor, and without even 
a stone like that upon which Jacob pillowed his head, 
—was our happiest time. Then prayer and song and 
more cheerful conversation prepared us for rest and 
often for happy dreams. But the morning hours, when 
we wakened, hungry, sore, unrefreshed, with no food 
but our miserable bit of vile bread and spoiled meat, 
and a long day to look forward to,—these were always 
dreary. After prayers, and our apology for a break¬ 
fast, we grew more cheerful, and again took up the 
task of living. 

An anecdote here will fitly illustrate the affection and 
exaggerated reverence felt for what we, to the great 
annoyance of the guards and citizens, persisted in call¬ 
ing “ God’s country.” I had been reading aloud a ser¬ 
mon of Bishop Bascom’s, from a book loaned us by 
our friend, the minister. The topic was “ The Joys of 
l q 21 


242 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


Heaven.” All listened with delight to his magnificent 
descriptions, but when the reading closed, engineer 
Brown, who was of a matter-of-fact disposition, asked, 
“ Now, candidly, boys, would you rather be in heaven, 
safe from all harm, if it is as good as the preacher says, 
or be in Cincinnati ?” This roused a very animated 
discussion, but at its conclusion, when we took a vote 
on the subject, the majority decided, honestly, no doubt, 
that they would rather be in Cincinnati,—for a while, 
at least! 

The expedients to which the tobacco-chewers of our 
party were driven to obtain a supply of “ the weed” 
were at once amusing and pathetic. They were even 
more eager for it than for their food. They begged 
from the negroes, jailer, guards, visitors,—anybody 
who could supply the valued article. The little they 
got was husbanded with the utmost care. One chew¬ 
ing was not sufficient. No “ quids” were thrown away, 
but carefully laid up, dried, and again used. When 
no more narcotic could be so extracted, they were once 
more dried and smoked in cob pipes! 

When Andrews broke out of the Chattanooga jail, 
he gave Hawkins a large, fine coat, which was too 
heavy to be carried. This was now sold to the jailer, 
and the proceeds furnished quite a treat of provisions. 

We found some diversion in opening secret commu¬ 
nication with every room in the prison. Those on the 
opposite side of the entry were reached by means of a 
small stick, which was shot from the crack under one 
door to the corresponding crack under the other. Each 
door was double,—one thickness of heavy wood, which 
was shut only at/night, and precluded all communica¬ 
tion ; the other of light iron bars. A string tied to the 
stick pulled over any message we might desire to send. 
Between our room and the other on the same side of 
the hall there was an unused chimney, into which 
stove-pipes led on each side. By removing the elbows 
we could talk through, but there was the danger of 


PRISON RELIGION. 


243 


being overheard. To remedy that, a long lath was 
forced off the side of our room in such a way that it 
could be put back again when desired, and this was 
used in passing notes back and forth through this con¬ 
cealed passage. This “ telegraph” was very useful 
when we afterwards undertook an escape. 

I can preserve no order of time in relating the events 
of these tedious months, which slowly rolled away 
their ponderous length. It was an almost perfect iso¬ 
lation from the world, with little hope of ever again 
mingling in its busy currents. As each month closed, 
we were startled by the thought that we were still 
alive,—that the thunder-bolt had not yet descended,— 
and we surmised and wondered how much longer it 
could be delayed. At last a small ray of hope began to 
rise, very feeble at first, and based only upon the incom¬ 
prehensible reprieve we were enjoying. As week after 
week glided away eventless—marked only by the mo¬ 
notony that is more wearying to heart and brain than 
the most severe anguish—this hope grew stronger; 
though it was so little assured that the most trifling 
circumstance—such as the strengthening of the guard, 
or the visit of an army official—was sufficient for the 
time to overturn it. It was the 12th of June when we 
entered that room. It was the 18th of October before 
we left it amid events of the most startling character, 
which will form a fit topic for a new chapter. 


244 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

LIBERTY OR DEATH? 

One morning the guard brought up four Federal 
soldiers, who were shut up in the front room. As soon 
as we were alone we resorted to our usual method of 
telegraphing to learn who they were. To our great 
surprise and pleasure we found that two of them— 
Coleman and Helbling—were of the Tenth Wisconsin, 
a regiment of our own brigade. They gave us many 
most interesting items of news,—among others, that 
our comrades had long since given us up for dead, and 
were vowing vengeance on our behalf. They were 
greatly surprised to find so many of us still alive. 
The other two were of the regular army, who had been 
captured on the coast of Florida. They remained with 
us until we were taken to Richmond long after. From 
them we gained a complete detail of the movements 
of our army since our departure. We were greatly 
grieved to find the military situation far less favorable 
than it had been four months before. The transfer of 
General Mitchel from Tennessee to the Atlantic coast 
we also regarded as unfavorable to our interests. 
These soldiers were the means shortly of leading us to 
a desperate resolution. 

We frequently talked and plotted about escape. This 
is the one topic that prisoners never weary of. We long 
before resolved that if any movement was made towards 
a court-martial, we would make one desperate effort 
for life; for the result of the trials in the case of An¬ 
drews and our poor comrades assured us that this for¬ 
mality would not be undertaken for any other purpose 
than that of putting us to death, under a show of law. 
After the lapse of a considerable time we had hopes 


LIBERTY OR DEATH? 


245 


that they would not dispense with this ceremony, and 
that we would thus have warning which might be use¬ 
ful. But many of our number—those especially who 
were vigorous in health, and, therefore, were more 
ready for action—wished to make the attempt at any 
rate. But time rolled on, and the dreaded prepara¬ 
tions for a trial were not made. Why we were left in 
this uncertain condition for four months we could not 
tell. It might be that, in the rush of military events, 
we were forgotten, or it might be that the rebel author¬ 
ities considered the hanging of eight men as sufficient 
to show their estimate of the enormity of our crime. 
This latter view grew upon the minds of some to such 
a degree that we boldly resolved to test it, even if it 
did bring our fate more swiftly upon us,—resolving 
that if our action should result in calling a court- 
martial we would then break from our prison or die 
in the attempt. Indeed, the scanty fare, the uncer¬ 
tainty, and the longing for liberty had become so com¬ 
pletely unendurable, that the prospects of perishing on 
the bayonets of the guard had little terror. But our 
resolution was to write a letter directly to Jefferson 
Davis, the President of the Confederacy, reciting our 
case, and asking to be put on the footing of prisoners of 
war. I acted as scribe, and used language as strong 
and yet respectful as possible. While writing, the whole 
party gathered around, and volunteered suggestions. 
Said Brown, “Be very humble to him, Pittenger. We 
can take all back, if we get out.” Buffum raised quite 
a laugh by saying, “ Tell him, Pittenger, that 1 all we 
ask is to be let alone.* ” This was an extract from one 
of Jefferson Davis* own addresses. But it did not go 
in the letter. The following is a copy of the document, 
obtained from the Confederate archives: 

“Atlanta Jail, August 17, 1862. 
“To His Excellency Jeeferson Dayis, 

“ President Confederate States of America. 

“Respected Sir, —We are United States soldiers regularly 
detailed from our command to obey the orders of Andrews. He 
21 * 


246 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


was a stranger to us, and we ignorant of his design, but, of course, 
we obeyed our officers. You are no doubt familiar with all we 
did, or can find it recorded in the trial of our comrades. Since 
then, Andrews himself and seven of us have been executed, and 
fourteen survive. Is this not enough for vengeance and for a 
warning to others? Would mercy in our case be misplaced? 
We have already been closely confined for more than four 
months. Will you not, sir, display a noble generosity by put¬ 
ting us on the same footing as prisoners of war, and permitting 
us to be exchanged, and thus show that in this terrible war the 
South still feels the claim of mercy and humanity? 

“ If you will be so good as to grant this request we will ever 
be grateful to you. 

“ Please inform us of your decision as soon as convenient.’’ 

Signed by all the survivors,—eight of the Twenty- 
first Ohio, one of the Second, and five of the Thirty- 
third, all of SilPs brigade, MitchePs division. 

This paper was forwarded from one officer to another 
in an ascending grade, and the indorsements on it, and 
the correspondence which followed, shed much light 
upon the position and fortunes of our party. But this 
light did not come to us until long after. 

The letter was marked (erroneously) as to its address, 
as follows: 

“ Petition from the survivors of Andrews’ party, who took the 
engine on the Georgia State Railroad in April last, to Major- 
General Bragg, commanding Department No. 2.” 

The first indorsement is that of Colonel Lee, provost- 
marshal at Atlanta: 

“ Respectfully forwarded to General Staughton. 

“ G. W. Lee, 

“ Commanding Post.” 

“Headquarters Department No. 2, 
“ Chattanooga, August 21, 1862. 
“Adjutant-General C. S. Army, Richmond, Ya. 

“Sir,—I have the honor to inclose herewith the petition of 
W. W. Brown and others, soldiers of the Twenty-first and Second 
Ohio Regiments, U.S.A.-, and to request information in the mat¬ 
ter. I am, sir, very respectfully, 

“ Your obedient servant, 

“Braxton Bragg, 

“ General Commanding.” 


LIBERTY OR DEATH? 


247 


The next indorsement shows a favorable disposition 
—at least in part: 

[Indorsement.] 

“ Respectfully submitted to the President. 

“ I recommend that they be respited until further orders, and 
detained as hostages for our own people in the hands of the 
enemy. 

“ G. W. Randolph, 

“Secretary of War.” 

The Secretary of War seems to have had the impres¬ 
sion that we had been also tried, and that sentence of 
death was pending over us. Under such circumstances 
a respite would have been a valuable boon. 

But President Davis is inflexible: 

[Indorsement.] 

“Secretary of War, inquire whether there is anything to 
justify a discrimination between them and others who were ex¬ 
ecuted for the same offence. J. D.” 

The inquiry thus ordered was at once begun: 

[Indorsement.] 

“ Write to Major G. W. Lee, provost-marshal at Atlanta, 
and inquire why fourteen of the engine thieves were respited 
while the others were executed, and whether there is anything 
distinguishing their case. 

“ G. W. Randolph, 

“Secretary of War.” 

Only the responses to these inquiries were preserved 
on file at Richmond, and are now in Washington. 
They show the degree of confusion and misunderstand¬ 
ing which prevailed at the rebel capital: 

“ Headquarters, Atlanta, Ga., Sept. 16, 1862. 

“ Hon. G. W. Randolph, Secretary of War, Richmond, Ya. 

“Sir, —Your communication of the 11th inst. is duly to hand. 
In reply, I have respectfully to say that the arrest, incarcera¬ 
tion, trial, and execution of the prisoners you refer to occurred 
before I took charge of this post by your order. I found a 
number of prisoners on my arrival, and among them the men 
named in the petition transmitted. 


248 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


11 Inclosed I transmit the papers handed over to me by my 
predecesssor. Since the reception of your letter 1 have endeavored 
to find Captain Poreacre, and ascertain something more, explain¬ 
ing what I was not conversant with in the transaction, hut as his 
business takes him away from the city, I have not as yet had an 
interview with him. I will still seek occasion to find him, and give 
you all the information learned from him. You will please find 
inclosed the names of the engine-stealers and bridge-burners who 
are confined in the jail of this city. It is entirely out of my 
power to answer you as to ‘ why fourteen of the engine thieves 
were respited while the others were executed, and whether or not 
there is anything to justify a discrimination in their favor?’ as I 
am not informed in relation to the proceedings of the court-mar¬ 
tial that tried the men. 

“ I am, sir, 

“ Respectfully your oht. servt., 

“ G. W. Lee, 

“ Commanding Post, and Provost-Marshal.” 


The inclosures consist of the seven death-sentences, 
one of which has already been given, and the following 
lists, which show a number of glaring errors. Accord¬ 
ing to the first we had all been court-martialled, but 
only the seven sentenced. The second is wrong in the 
placing of several names. The manner in which the 
word “ spies” is interlined in the “ charges” of the first 
list is also suggestive. 


11 List of Prisoners sent to Atlanta , Ga., June 13, 1862, from 
Knoxville , Term ., by command of Major-General E. Kirby 
Smith: 


Names. Residence. Charges. 

Spies. 

1. Wilson Brown.Ohio. Court-martialled and sentenced....Engine A stealing. 

2. Marion Boss. “ “ “ “ •' “ 

3. W. H. Campbell. “ “ 

4. John Scott. “ “ 

5. Perry G. Shadrach... “ “ 

6. G. P. Wilson. “ “ 

7. Samuel Slavens. “ “ 

8. S. Robinson. “ “ 

9. E. H. Mason. “ “ “ “ 

10. Wm. Knight. “ “ “ “ 

11. Robt. Bufflns. “ “ “ “ 

12. Wm. Pettinger. “ “ “ “ 

13. Captain David Fry ...Green Co., Tenn.Bridge-burning and recruiting for 

Federal army. 

14. G. W. Barlow.Washington Co., Tenn....Obstructing railroad track. 

15. Thos. McCoy.Morgan Co., “ 1 

Peter Pierce.Campbell Co., “ 1 Prisoners of war.—Federal sol- 

John Barker.Estill Co., “ f diers. 

Bennet Powers.Lincoln Co., “ J 




















LIBERTY OR DEATH? 


249 


Names. Residence. 


Charges. 

Political Prisoners. 


Ransom White.Morgan Co., Tenn.' 

John Walls.Blount Co., 

John Green.Union Co., 

John Thompkins.Washington Co., 

Henry Miller.Sullivan Co., 

William Thompson .Arrested at Bristol. 


Citizen aiding the enemy. 
Trying to go to Kentucky. 
Rebellion. 


....Suspected as a spy. 


“ Respectfully submitted by order. 

“Wm. M. Churchwell, 

“ Colonel, and Provost-Marshal.’* 


“List of Prisoners in Atlanta City Jail , September 16, 1862. 


ENGINE-STEALERS. 


M. J. Hawkins, 

W. Reddick, 

J. Parrott, 

D. A. Dorsey, 

W. Bensinger, 

J. K. Porter, 

A. Wilson, 

M. Wood, 

E. H. Mason, 

W. W. Brown, 

W. Knight, 

R. Bufman, 

W. Pettinger, 

David Fry, 

J. J. Barker. 

BRIDGE-BURNERS. 

T. McCoy, 

P. Pierce, 

B. Powers, 

Jno. Walls, 

Jno. Green, 

R. White, 

H. Mills, 

J. Tompkins, 
Jno. Wollam.” 

G. D. Barlow, 


The next day Provost-Marshal Lee wrote again as 
follows: 

“Headquarters, Atlanta, Ga., 
“ September 17, 1862. 

“ Hon. G. W. Randolph, Secretary of War, Richmond, Ya. 

“ Sir, —I respectfully forward to you hereby all that I have 
been enabled to obtain from my predecessor, Captain Foreacre. 

“ The documents relating to the cases, so far as I know any¬ 
thing about them, were forwarded to you on yesterday. 

“ I am, sir, very respectfully, 

“ Your obedient servant, 

“ G. W. Lee, 

“ Commanding Post, and Provost-Marshal.” 


The following letter, inclosed from Captain Fore¬ 
acre, is wrong in saying that some of the party had 
been tried but not sentenced. Yet this was the obvious 
belief of the Confederate authorities : 










250 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


“Atlanta, Ga., September 16, 1862. 
“Hon. G. W. Randolph, Secretary of War, Richmond, Va. 

“Hear Sir, —Your letter of September 11, 1862, to Major 
Lee, provost-marshal, has been shown me by him, and, as far as 
I am acquainted with the matter, General Smith only sent from 
Knoxville instructions and orders to have seven of them hung, 
which was promptly attended to by myself. 

“ The remaining fourteen were reported to this office only for 
safe-keeping,—some having been tried, but not sentenced, and 
others not tried. The only office which can properly answer your 
inquiry is that of Major-General E. K. Smith. 

“ I have the honor to remain, 

“ Your obedient servant, 

“ G. J. Foreacre.” 


No record of any further inquiry remains. Whether 
the matter was there dropped, or orders issued for open¬ 
ing the whole question by a court-martial, remains un¬ 
certain. But these documents make it almost certain 
that all the party, or at least the twelve who were sent 
to Knoxville, were destined to be tried and condemned; 
that at the abrupt breaking up of the court, no record 
was put on file of the cause of the interruption; and 
that the authorities at Atlanta and Richmond expected 
the court at Knoxville, which they assumed to have 
finished its work, to give orders for our disposal. That 
court never reconvened. Its members were dispersed 
all over the South. The commanding general, E. 
Kirby Smith, was transferred to a distant department. 
We were forgotten, and thus the strange respite we 
enjoyed is explained. But would it continue ? 

Some of the Confederate officers had formed a theory 
of their own to account for the death of seven of our 
number and the sparing of the remainder. They as¬ 
sumed that those put to death were volunteers, while 
the others were detailed by their officers. But there 
were no grounds for such a supposition. 

While this correspondence was in progress, Colonel 
Lee came to our door one day, and had a long talk 
with us about our expedition and prison experiences. 
He finally told us of receiving a letter from the Secre- 


LIBERTY OR DEATH? 


251 


tary of War at Richmond asking why we had not all 
been executed! He asked us the reason, and one of 
the party, who had not totally forgotten his experience 
of duplicity in the early part of our enterprise, said 
that it had been thought that there were some miti¬ 
gating circumstances in our case. The marshal said 
that he could give no reason, but had referred the 
Secretary to the court-martial at Knoxville, and that 
he was now awaiting orders concerning us. On our 
request he promised to visit us again when he should 
receive an answer from Richmond. We told him of 
the manner in which our comrades had been put to 
death without warning. He admitted the wrong, but 
disclaimed responsibility for it, as it occurred before he 
came into command. 

We waited anxiously for his return for several days, 
but waited in vain. It was urged that we had heard 
enough already, and that now, if ever, we ought to 
strike for life. But I was of another opinion. The 
enterprise of escaping was of enormous difficulty, and 
success, at' the best, doubtful. I did not think that, in 
our enfeebled condition, after six months of terrible 
hardship and partial starvation, we were the men we 
had been. It was my judgment that nothing but the 
certainty of death on the one hand could give the neces¬ 
sary vigor, spring, and desperation to command success 
on the other. Despair might nerve us to throw our¬ 
selves with resistless fury on the bayonets of the guards, 
but this fury would come only when the last hope was 
dead. My reasoning prevailed, and we waited a little 
longer. 

But evidence came soon that ended hesitation. More 
of the guard was kept on duty at once, and greater 
vigilance was everywhere apparent. We fancied that 
the old jailer regarded us with unusual compassion. 
But through the stove-pipe, from our friends in the 
other room, came the decisive information. The pris¬ 
oners there saw the provost-marshal ride up to the 


252 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE . 


gate, have the jailer called out, and heard him give 
orders to watch those engine-thieves closely, as he had 
been notified that a court was ordered for their trial. 
The same evening the jailer said to them that he was 
very sorry for the poor Yankees in the other room, 
for every man of them would be hung! This word 
was conveyed to us, and longer doubt would have been 
folly. 

We were now ready for the emergency, and had 
fully discussed and settled our plans. We were in 
the upper story of the jail. Our room was entered by 
a double door,—one of heavy plank, and one of iron 
slats. If this was opened, we would only be in the 
entry, and would have still to go down-stairs into a 
hall and pass another door before we could gain the 
jail-yard. This, in turn, was surrounded by a board 
fence eight or ten feet high, and having but a single 
gate, which was usually closed. Seven fully-armed 
soldiers were constantly on guard, with an unknown 
reserve close at hand. We could depend on help from 
no one of the prisoners except Captain Fry, so that we 
were but fifteen, and even two or three of these were 
too sick to be of great value in a fight. Then we were 
in the skirts of the town, fully a mile from the nearest 
woods. One advantage, and the only one on which I 
relied, was that of surprise. We knew what we were 
to do, and the strong motive that impelled it. 

All plans looking to sawing out and swinging to the 
ground at night, as in Chattanooga, had been canvassed 
and rejected. What we meant to do was to break out 
in open daylight and overpower the guards. The most 
favorable time was when the doors were opened for 
bringing in our supper, which was a little before sun¬ 
down, as by starting then we would soon have the 
cover of darkness. It was arranged to seize the jailer 
when he came to remove the pans in which our supper 
was brought, and to keep him perfectly quiet while all 
the doors were being unlocked, for we wished to release 


LIBERTY OR DEATH? 


253 


all the other prisoners. At the same moment the 
other members of the party, divided into two squads, 
were to cautiously descend the stairway, pounce upon 
the guards, and take their guns from them. If this 
was done in 'perfect quiet , the guards were to be locked 
up, and we, taking their arms, would march out on our 
homeward journey. As soon as discovered we were 
to break into parties of two and strike out for Union 
territory by widely-diverging lines. 

All our plans were completed. We had patched our 
clothes as well as possible, and made cloth moccasins 
to protect our feet, many of our shoes being worn out. 
We only waited the coming of the appointed hour. 

Slowly the sun sunk down the west; slowly the 
shadows lengthened in the east, till the gloomy shade 
of the jail had nearly reached the crest of the hill that 
usually marked our supper-time. We bade each other 
a solemn farewell, for we knew not if we should ever 
meet again on earth, or how many of us might be cold 
and lifeless before the stars shone out. We prayed 
fervently, though we dared not kneel or speak aloud. 
Captain Fry, who was tender-hearted as a child, wept 
at the parting. He had two large coats, and as he 
could not take both with him in the expected rush, he 
generously gave one to me. I needed it extremely, for 
I was very nearly destitute of clothing. He and I 
were to be companions, according to a previous ar¬ 
rangement. 

Everything was put in readiness. I had carefully 
piled in a corner such of the books belonging to the 
minister as we still retained, and had written him a 
note of thanks for them. Anything that could be used 
as a weapon was now put within reach. 

At last the supper-hour came. We could not afford 
to lose a morsel of the scanty food, and ate it in silence. 
The jailer was not accustomed to come into the room, 
but merely opened the door and admitted the negroes 
who bore the pans filled with corn-bread. Old Thoer, 
22 


254 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


the watchman whom everybody hated, was fortunately 
away. It was well, or he might have suffered. Tur¬ 
ner we respected, and were determined not to injure if 
we could help it. After the jailer had given their food 
to the inmates of the other rooms he came back to ours 
and swung open the creaking door to remove the food- 
pans. This was the signal. 

It was a thrilling moment! On the action of the 
next few seconds hung the issues of life or death. I 
confess that for one instant the blood flowed to my 
heart with a sharp, piercing throb, and there came a 
sudden and terrible fear lest the fever-weakened body 
would not in this crisis obey the dictates of will. But 
this ceased before the door had swung wide enough 
open to admit the passage of a man. The others were 
pale but determined, and a single glance told me that 
there would be no faltering. As for Captain Fry, who 
was to initiate the movement,—supported by myself,— 
and whom I had seen weeping a few minutes before, 
he was perfectly calm, and his face wore a pleasant 
smile! As soon as the door had swung far enough he 
stepped adroitly through it as if this were the most 
natural thing in the world, and said, very quietly,— 

“ A pleasant evening, Mr. Turner.” 

“Yes, — rather — pleasant,” responded the jailer, 
looking bewildered by this movement, as he no doubt 
was. 

“We feel like taking a little walk this evening,” 
continued the captain, while the door was forced clear 
back, and three of us stood abreast in it ready to 
spring. 

The, astonishment of the jailer now knew no bounds. 
“ What ?—how ?—where ?” he gasped, in broken ejac¬ 
ulations. 

Fry’s countenance grew darker as he clasped the old 
man in his arms, and said,— 

“We have stayed as long as we can stand it, and are 
now going to leave and let the other prisoners out; so 


LIBERTY OR DEATH. 





























































































































































































\ 















































































































LIBERTY OR DEATH? 255 

give up the keys, and make no noise about it, or it will 
be the worse for you!” 

Turner tightened his grasp on the keys, whispered, 
hoarsely, “ You can’t do that,” then threw himself back 
and began in a loud tone, “ Guar—” when my hand 
closed across his mouth and stifled the incipient call for 
help. He bit my finger, but did no great damage. 

Then came the rush of the prisoners,—quick, stealthy, 
cat-like. Not a sound was audible a dozen yards away. 
The negroes huddled in a corner of the room in stupid 
fright, but had sense enough to be quiet. Turner 
struggled violently, for he was a man of great strength, 
but Fry and I kept him mute; the keys were twisted 
from him, and Bufliim was soon at work on the locks 
of the other doors. Quietly the assaulting column de¬ 
scended the stairway and burst out upon the guards 
outside. If they committed a fault, it was in being 
too quick. In one minute Bufliim would have had the 
other doors unlocked, and then, throwing aside the dis¬ 
armed jailer, Fry, Bufliim, and myself, reinforced by 
all the prisoners who chose to go with us, would have 
stood by their side in the second charge. This trifling 
circumstance did make a considerable difference in the 
result,—at least, to some of us. 

Seven sentinels were on duty,—three in the back 
yard, four in the front yard. The charge upon the for¬ 
mer was completely successful, their guns being wrested 
from them before they knew their danger, and they 
were kept perfectly quiet under the threat—which 
would have been executed—of instant death. 

The attack in the front yard was made with equal 
gallantry and skill, but not with equal success. Two 
rebels stood near the front door of the prison, and these 
were secured in the same manner as their comrades at 
the rear, and held in silence. Had the remaining two 
been close at hand, I have no doubt they would have 
fared as their comrades, and thus the unparalleled feat 
of twelve unarmed prisoners taking the loaded muskets 


256 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


from seven guards on their post would have been ac¬ 
complished. But,,unfortunately, the last two stood at 
the open gate. Their conduct was not brave but it was 
wise, for, without firing a shot, they ran out through 
the gate, screaming the alarm in tones that roused the 
whole neighborhood. The reserve guard was close at 
hand, and at once rushed to the rescue. 

The whole action, from the time Fry stepped out of 
the door until the wild cry was raised at the gate, was 
probably less than sixty seconds. Fry and myself 
were preparing to secure the jailer, for we knew not 
yet that the attack was made. Buffnm had opened two 
doors, and was working at the third when the wild, 
thrilling cry of alarm arose from below. Those within 
adjured him to open, and the brave man, though his 
own chances of life were lessening each second, worked 
till the door opened, and then violently flung it wide, 
with an impatient “there!” while he bounded down the 
stairway like a hunted deer. 

All secrecy was at an end, and the only , remaining 
hope was in headlong flight. Our comrades in the 
yard saw their peril, and were in a little better position 
than those of us who were still inside the jail. They 
let go their terrified enemies, flung away the guns, 
which now could only impede their flight, and, scaling 
the board fence, made for the woods nearly a mile away. 
Even for the foremost of them it was a fearful race. 
Rebel bullets whistled around their ears, but none of 
them was hit. Indeed, I am inclined to think that it 
was a fortunate thing for our comrades that the rebels 
had guns to carry, and stopped to fire whenever they 
came near a fugitive. Otherwise hundreds of fresh, 
vigorous soldiers—for there were soon hundreds on 
the scene—could have run down a dozen half-starved 
prisoners. 

Fry and myself started down-stairs together as soon 
as Buffum had opened the last door,—only a moment 
after the alarm had been given, but moments were 


LIBERTY OR DEATH? 


257 


more precious then than common months. The cap¬ 
tain was a little in advance. His eagle eye took in 
the situation, as in two leaps he cleared the stairway. 
He saw there was no chance in the front yard, now 
filled with armed rebels, and darted to the back door, 
found a passage to the yard fence, scaled it just before 
a complete guard was stretched around the prison, was 
fired at on the fence, but descended in safety, and ran 
in a different direction from the other fugitives. Fi¬ 
nally, a soldier levelled his musket at him, and he fell. 
One of our own men who saw this, and no more, re¬ 
ported that he was killed, and we long mourned the 
brave man as dead. But this was only a stratagem to 
gain his breath for a moment. His pursuers turned 
towards other game, and he rose, and, after a second 
hard chase, gained the cover of the woods. Thirty 
days after he had reached Nashville in safety. 

I was to have been his companion, according to the 
allotment we made before leaving the prison, and our 
boys almost envied me the advantage of being with 
so experienced a mountain traveller. But a moment’s 
misfortune made this advantage unavailing, and doomed 
me to further sufferings. My eyes have always been 
defective, and especially sensitive to sudden variations 
of light. When I came from the dark prison room 
(the hall was equally dark) into full light, for a moment 
I could see nothing distinctly. X lost sight of Fry. It 
would not do to stand still, and I rushed for the prison- 
gate. Many a time defective vision has been a source 
of annoyance and vexation, but never so much as then. 
Before getting to the gate I could see better, and was 
confronted by two soldiers, who were tossing their guns 
about in a distracted manner, and crying, “ What shall 
we do? Oh, what shall we do?” They did not look 
dangerous, and I ran by; but just in the gate I met a 
stream of fresh guards coming on the run. Of course 
they halted me, and equally, of course, I did not halt, 
but turned back towards the jail. There were other 


258 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


guards around, one of whom snapped his gun at me 
when not two yards away. I eluded them, got into 
the jail again, and out at the back door. This time I 
reached the top of the yard fence, but a dozen muskets 
were lifted from the outside to fire. To jump down on 
that side was inevitable death. One chance only re¬ 
mained. Possibly the gate now was not watched ! I 
sprang back into the yard, and other guards were after 
me. The prison-door was open, and I entered, seek¬ 
ing to pass through it as before, and get outside the 
gate for a clear race. But the front door was now 
guarded also, and, as I turned, I found my pursuers 
in the back door. I was fairly trapped,—back in the 
prison again ! It was a terrible situation. If I could 
crush between the two men who stood with loaded 
muskets in the door, their comrades were outside, and 
it was simply death to attack them. In sheer despera¬ 
tion, I turned my back upon them, not caring whether 
they fired or not, and walked up-stairs to a window, 
from which I could see something of the fearful race 
still going on, and note the streams of troops pouring 
towards the prison. My guards pointed their guns at 
me, but did not offer to come near, and when I walked 
from the hall window into a room,—not our own, but 
another which commanded a better view,—I found in 
it the four Federal soldiers, its former occupants, who 
had made no attempt to get away, the alarm and the 
rapid firing which followed convincing them that it 
was safer to remain where they were. 

Parrott and Reddick were recaptured inside the wall, 
like myself. Buffum got over the wall about the same 
time as Captain Fry, but was less fortunate. A soldier 
singled him out, and squarely ran him down. When 
hardly able to drag another step, and with the inexor¬ 
able armed runner within a rod of him, Buffum tried a 
“ Yankee trick.” (He was a native of Massachusetts.) 
Sinking down exhausted, he said, “ I surrender. You 
can go on and get that other fellow,” pointing to one a 


LIBERTY OR DEATH? 259 

few rods away. “ No,” answered the man, with a great 
oath, “ I’ve got you , and I mean to keep you.” So he stood 
with his gun aimed until some of his comrades arrived, 
and poor Buffurn was marched back to jail. Had the 
man taken his advice, and looked for a bird in the 
bush, the one in hand would doubtless have flown. 
Mason and Bensinger were also captured outside of the 
wall, making a recapture of six and an escape of nine, 
—a better result than I had supposed probable when 
we planned the attempt. 

From the window of the front room where I then 
was I had a good view of the proceedings below. In 
a short time a large body of troops, including a regi¬ 
ment of cavalry, were drawn up in front of the jail. 
I heard Colonel Lee give his orders. He said, “ Don’t 
take one of the villains alive. Shoot them down 
wherever you find them,” with many similar expres¬ 
sions, which were possibly meant for the benefit of 
those inside the prison as well as for the troops. He 
also ordered pickets to be placed at the ferries of the 
Chattahoochee, along the railroad, and also at all cross¬ 
roads,—an arrangement that pleased me, for we had 
agreed to avoid those very places. Our intention had 
been to travel in the night-time through the woods, and 
to cross the rivers on logs as far from ferries as possible. 

Hearing some confused sounds of distress from the 
room of the Tennesseeans, I inquired the cause, and 
learned that a young man, named Barlow, who alone 
of their number had attempted to escape, had broken 
his ankle. This injury was received in jumping from 
the outside fence. He was driven back to the prison 
room, where surgical aid was refused, and he finally 
died after great suffering. 

Of all who were up-stairs at the time the alarm was 
given, only Fry and one other man succeeded in escap¬ 
ing. The latter was a deserter from the rebel army, 
and being very active and fleet, reached the shelter of 
the woods in advance of all the fugitives. 


260 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


From the window I could hear the guards, all night 
long, talking over their adventures. Generally they 
praised their own bravery liberally, but occasionally 
some one who had arrived later would suggest that it 
was not much to their credit to let unarmed men snatch 
their guns from them ; but such suggestions were not 
kindly received, and the work of self-glorification went 
on. One of them expressed astonishment at the speed 
of the Yankees, who had been so long kept in jail; 
another accounted for it by the abundant practice in 
running Yankee soldiers had received in battle! 

All night long I lay in a hammock which one of the 
regular soldiers had swung by the window, but now 
kindly resigned to me, and listened to the boastful con¬ 
versation below. 

“ Sadly I thought of the morrow.” 

There was little reason to doubt that full vengeance 
would be dealt to each man who remained in the 
enemy’s power. The news we had received, and which 
we had agreed in crediting, was the end of all hope. 
Death, which had stared us in the face so often, could 
not be far distant now. Another escape would scarcely 
be left by the aroused vigilance of the enemy within 
the realms of possibility. And such a death! No 
vision of glory to dazzle the sight, and hide the grim 
monster from view, or wreathe him in flowers. No 
eye of friends to behold the last struggle. No sympa¬ 
thy,—nothing but ignominy and an impenetrable dark¬ 
ness, beyond which no loving eye might ever pierce! 
But even as the cold horror of the scaffold, and the 
vision of the heartless, jeering crowd rose freshly be¬ 
fore me, I looked out in the clear night, and up to the 
shining stars, and remembered that I had one Friend, 
—a Friend who would not fear to stand with me on 
the scaffold, and who had Himself tasted the bitterness 
of a public execution. Was it for me he had died,—to 


LIBERTY OR DEATH9 


261 


show* me that no outward shame is too great to be borne 
by the true heart? With the thought came a still and 
heavenly peace, while my hope, finding no place on 
this side, overleaped the darkness of death and dwelt 
upon the scenes of promised happiness beyond. It is- 
in such hours that the value and supporting power of 
religion is fully realized. 

The next morning the jailer put me back into the 
room formerly occupied. When all had gathered, we 
were only six in number,—Mason, Buffum, Bensinger, 
Reddick, Parrott, and myself. We had enough to talk 
over for many hours. The jailer, too, had his story to 
tell. He said that some man put his hand over his 
mouth and nearly smothered him, but added, with 
great satisfaction, “ I bit his finger terribly, and gave 
the rascal a mark he will carry to the grave with him.” 
However, though he did bite hard, his teeth were not 
so sharp as he thought, and he had only managed to 
inflict a slight bruise. I kept my hand out of sight in 
his presence for a day or two, and he had no idea that 
I was the person of whom he complained, as his fright 
prevented his clearly distinguishing anything. He was 
rather cross for a while, and always brought up the 
guards when he came to feed us. 

About the middle of the day some officers came to 
see us, and talked very roughly. With many threats, 
they demanded to know what direction our comrades 
had intended to travel. I was glad of this, as it as¬ 
sured me that some were still at large. They professed 
to have killed several, and declared that they meant to 
kill the others as fast as they were taken. In answer 
to their demand I told them the truth, as I thought 
that would do them as little good as anything else. I 
said,— 

“ They intend to try to get to the Union lines; and 
tjw said that it made little difference which way they 
went, for our forces have you so completely surrounded, 
that travelling in any course will do equally well.” 


262 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


Being unable to get anything more definite, they 
retired. 

Not until our own release did we learn with cer¬ 
tainty the fate of our eight comrades. Nothing in this 
whole story seems more wonderful than their adven¬ 
tures and ultimate success. Two went South, two West, 
and four others, in two groups, went Northward. To 
recite the adventures of all would detain us too long, 
but the reader will expect some account. We will give 
two of the four narratives in some detail, and the others 
more briefly. B 


CHAPTER XVII. 

ROMANTIC ESCAPES. 

J. R. Porter and John Wollam kept in company 
when they ran for the woods. The latter will be re¬ 
membered as having previously escaped from Chatta¬ 
nooga in company with Andrews, and eluded his pur¬ 
suers for a long time. 

It was October 16 when they started, and they 
reached the Federal lines at Corinth, Mississippi, No¬ 
vember 18, being thus two days over a month on the 
way* They endured the greatest hardships. When in 
wooded country they travelled both night and day, sub¬ 
sisting on wild grapes, chestnuts, hickory-nuts, w T alnuts, 
and some few sweet potatoes. In a few instances they 
got a little morsel of corn-bread from some negroes. 
This was not always a gift. Several times they slipped 
into the fields where the negroes were at work and stole 
their scanty dinners. Necessity knew no law. For one 
whole week they had no bread, nor any other food, ex¬ 
cept the nuts gathered in the woods. 

Their sufferings with cold were also very grea^ as 
their clothes were light and almost worn out, and the 



ROMANTIC ESCAPES . 


263 


nights very chill. Twice only they slept in houses. 
One night they travelled till they were chilled and 
weary, and almost perishing with cold, when they for¬ 
tunately discovered a nest of hogs. It was no time to 
be choice; so routing out the inmates, they took posses¬ 
sion of the warm bed, and slept soundly till morning! 

They found many streams on the way, which they 
were obliged to wade, or float across on logs. Porter was 
a man of clear religious faith and great constancy, while 
Wollam was full of resources, though somewhat reck¬ 
less. He longed for the Tennessee River, down which 
he had floated alone once before, and somewhere on 
which he knew Federal troops were to be found. It 
was twenty-two days, however, before this stream was 
reached, at a point forty miles west of Chattanooga. 
The worst of their trials were now over. They pressed 
a canoe into the service, and used it as Wollam had 
done before, paddling and floating down stream at 
night, and hiding it and themselves, in the most secret 
place they could find, during the day. Two persons 
under such circumstances have great advantages over 
a solitary traveller. Not only does companionship as¬ 
sist in keeping hope alive in each breast, but one can 
watch while the other rests, and thus their resources 
are husbanded. The voyagers met with no remark¬ 
able adventures until they reached the head of Muscle 
Shoals, which they could not pass on account of low 
water. Abandoning their canoe here, they made a cir¬ 
cuit of forty miles by land, and came back to the river 
below the Shoals. Here they “ borrowed” a skiff, and 
continued their journey until within twelve miles of 
Pittsburg Landing, where they finally left the river. 
Twelve miles of travel brought them to Corinth,—a 
post occupied by Union troops,—where they were re¬ 
ceived with all the welcome that could be given to 
comrades long considered dead. They had passed over 
three hundred miles in a straight line,—probably double 
that distance by reason of the circuits they made, and 


264 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


this without assistance, and while shunning all about 
them as foes. 

Engineer Brown, W. J. Knight, and E. H. Mason 
were thrown together in the hurry of escape, although 
only the former two had intended to travel in company. 
Mason’s intended comrade was recaptured. Dorsey and 
Hawkins were also, at first, in the same squad. The 
first night, while hiding in the woods, Mason became 
very sick, and for two days remained within a short 
distance of Atlanta. This was very dangerous, and he 
finally told Brown and Knight to leave him and make 
good their own escape. This the heroic boys refused 
to do, but, on the contrary, took him to a house, as he 
was growing rapidly worse. They were well received, 
and given some food in the kitchen. Just as they had 
finished it, three men, who had probably seen their 
arrival, came in at the front door to arrest them. This 
was an almost unique incident in the history of our 
expedition,—the attempt to arrest any members of the 
party without having an overwhelming superiority in 
numbers,—and, as might have been expected, it miscar¬ 
ried. Our comrades did not deny being escaped pris¬ 
oners, but when told that they must surrender and go 
back to Atlanta, Brown, who hardly knew the meaning 
of fear, gave in his soft, silvery voice the very decided 
reply, “No, we won’t; now see if we do,” and with 
Knight sprang through the back door. There was no 
alternative but to abandon Mason; but the other two 
were the strongest and most agile of our number,—had 
always been our leaders in all athletic sports, and were 
able to give a good account of themselves either in a 
race or fight. They ran round the end of the house 
and then struck towards a piece of woods half a mile 
away, keeping under the shelter of a fence which ex¬ 
tended towards the woods. The Confederates ran out 
at the front door with their shot-guns just as the fugi¬ 
tives were flying along the fence. Not wishing to try 
a foot-race, the former mounted their horses and galloped 


ROMANTIC ESCAPES. 


265 


out from the house down a lane that led to the main 
road, attempting thus to head them off, while the owner 
of the house where they had stayed unloosed his pack 
of hounds, which were soon on the trail in full cry. The 
fugitives changed their course to avoid the chance of a 
shot from the road, and to keep at right angles with it. 
Before the woodland could be reached, the dogs closed 
in upon them, and the struggle which followed was 
short and decisive. Brown and Knight, seeing the 
dogs gaining upon them, selected a place where loose 
stones were abundant, and gave their barking foes a 
reception which must have astonished them. Stones 
weighing a pound or more, hurled at close quarters by 
the strong arms of desperate men, are not to be despised 
by the most savage of blood-hounds. The whole pack 
were soon crippled or driven into hasty flight. 

But by this time the horsemen were near, and our 
hunted comrades were obliged to run again at full speed, 
changing their course, with the purpose of eluding their 
armed pursuers. They got into some brushwood, and 
by “ seesawing and tacking” hoped to get out of sight 
of the horsemen. But the dogs still followed the trail, 
though they dared not come near, and the brave pair 
would no doubt have been run down in time, by the 
aid of dogs and horses, had they not found a little creek, 
in which they waded long enough to throw the dogs off 
the scent; then the expanse of timber about the creek 
soon hid them from their human foes. 

That day they reached Stone Mountain, about eigh¬ 
teen miles east of Atlanta, and afterwards travelled only 
at night, due north, with the North Star for their guide. 
From their daytime hiding-places they frequently saw 
parties of patrollers, but were never discovered. 

Mason was taken without resistance and sent back to 
Atlanta, where he joined us, being the sixth and last 
man recaptured. 

Brown and Knight did not venture again to a house, 
and suffered greatly for want of food. From the house 
m 23 


266 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


they had left so precipitately they travelled six days with 
nothing to eat save what the woods furnished. They 
even chewed brush to appease the gnawings of hunger. 
On the seventh day they obtained a great feast by 
catching a goose, which they ate raw, and also procured 
a little of the corn left in a field by the huskers. Two 
days after, they found a tree of apples, very poor, but 
precious to them, and, after having devoured as many 
as they could, carried a supply with them. Before 
night, however, they had still better fortune. They 
discovered a drove of half-grown pigs. To get one 
was not easy, but these men were not readily baffled. 
Their plan was soon laid: Knight hid behind a tree 
with a club, while Brown tolled a confiding member of 
the drove by biting off bits of apple and throwing 
towards him. He backed past the tree where Knight 
was concealed, and when the pig in following came near 
enough, the latter felled it with one powerful blow, and 
they bore it away in triumph. That night they found 
a burnt brush-heap, and, as some of the coals were not 
extinct, they made a fire and feasted on roast pig. They 
carried off what they could not eat, and it took the 
edge from famine for a long while. 

When ten days out they crossed the Chattahoochee 
on a raft made of rails tied together with bark. At 
length they came into the mountains, where travel at 
night for famishing men was intolerably difficult. But, 
though they knew it not, they were near friends. The 
border country between Tennessee and North Caro¬ 
lina was always predominantly loyal. Accident led to 
the discovery of those who were glad to give them 
help. In crossing an old clearing, which seemed de¬ 
serted, they came out unexpectedly in front of a lonely 
looking log house, where two men stood on the porch. 
Brown and Knight were so hungry that they resolved 
to take the risk of asking for dinner. As there were 
only two men, they thought they could not be arrested, 
especially if they first got something to eat. They pre- 


ROMANTIC ESCAPES. 


267 


tended to be rebel soldiers, who had been sick and were 
now trying to get back to their regiments. The mistress 
of the house gave them food, but eyed them closely, and 
soon accused them of being “ Yankees.” Denial was 
useless, and they “ soon found each other out.” These 
Union people put them on the Southern branch of the 
Underground Railroad, and they arrived at Somerset, 
Kentucky, on the 25th of November,—a month and 
nine days after leaving Atlanta. 

The course of the next pair, Dorsey and Hawkins, 
was also northward, and in nearly the same track. In 
the early part it presents marked peculiarities, .espe¬ 
cially in the fact that much help was obtained from 
the negroes. These sympathized with all fugitives on 
general principles, and still more when the fugitives 
were Union soldiers. The latter part of this narrative 
passes over the same ground as the former. It is a 
trifling but noticeable coincidence that four of the eight 
who escaped came to the town of Somerset, Kentucky, 
and two others to the ship “ Somerset.” 

Dorsey shall tell his own story, with a few abridg¬ 
ments. He hurt his ankle in the first terrible run, and 
this caused him great suffering. He also met a coun¬ 
tryman just before reaching the woods, but having 
armed himself with a large stone in each hand, and 
looking dangerous, he was not stopped. The rapid 
firing of the enemy led him to believe that many of 
our number were killed. We take up his story at the 
entrance of the forest. The first touch is very graphic. 

11 Passing a little way into the woods, I found Brown and 
Knight leaning against a tree, gasping for breath. I leaned 
against the same tree. None of us could speak. I thought for 
a moment or two that each breath would be my last. As we re¬ 
covered a little, one gasped, 1 Guess we’d better go, hoys.’ On 
we went, but not so fast as before, for none of our pursuers were 
now in sight. We were soon joined by Hawkins, Mason, and 
the escaped deserter, so that we were six in all. We lay in an 
open field that night, judging it to be safer than the woods, and 
huddled together as a partial protection from the cold. All 
night long we heard the baying of the hounds and the frequent 


268 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


discharge of firearms. The distance from which these sounds 
came indicated that the pursuers were beyond us, and that our 
best chance was in hiding and allowing them to pass still farther 
ahead. The next day we were fortunate enough to discover 
some luscious wild grapes, which we devoured with the greatest 
relish. Our mouths afterwards were very sore, and the grapes 
may possibly have been the cause of the injury. The same day 
we were surprised by some citizens with shot-guns, but outran 
them and escaped. 

“ Brown, Mason, and Knight left us, the latter being sick. 
The deserter continued with us a day longer. He then wished 
to visit a house for food, but we, though very hungry, did not 
think it advisable, and parted with all good wishes. I have 
heard that he got safely to Washington, D. C., but, returning to 
his home in Northern Georgia, was arrested and executed as a 
deserter from the Confederate army, into which he had been 
conscripted at first. 

“On the fourth day out we met two of our pursuers, who 
were apparently coming back discouraged, but easily eluded 
them by hiding under some bushes. We now began to travel 
more rapidly, hiding by day and continuing on our way by night, 
directed by the stars, which Hawkins understood very well. 

“ On the eighth day out we came to the ferry of the Chatta¬ 
hoochee River, far to the northeast of Atlanta. We took rails 
from a neighboring fence, and began to build a raft, when we 
observed a lighted torch approaching the opposite side of the 
river. When it came nearer we saw that the party accompany¬ 
ing it were negroes, two in number, with four dogs. Hawkins, 
who had spent some years in the South, and understood the dis¬ 
position of the negroes, felt disposed to trust them. Accordingly, 
we asked them to ferry us over, which they readily did, we 
giving them a little tobacco we had, and which we could not 
use because of our sore mouths. They professed themselves 
Unionists, and we told them that we were Union soldiers. The 
fact of belonging to the railroad party we did not disclose until 
we were within the Union lines. One went for provisions, while 
the other remained with us, as if to allay any suspicions we 
might entertain. They told us that we were forty-eight miles 
northeast of Atlanta, in the region of deserted gold-mines, and 
proposed to hide us in one of those mines, supply us with quilts 
and provisions until we were well rested, and then direct us on 
our northward way. It would probably have been better to 
have accepted their kind offer, which I think Hawkins wished 
to do, but I had some fear ; so we declined. 

“ The one who had gone for provisions returned with a goodly 
supply of boiled pork and beans, mashed Irish potatoes, sweet 
potatoes, and corn-bread. What a feast! It was the first food 
worthy the name we had eaten for six long months! We did 
it ample justice, and what was left carried away with us. Our 
African friends also gave us a piece of a broken butcher-knife, 


ROMANTIC ESCAPES . 


269 


that was of great service. They also gave us invaluable direc¬ 
tions, telling us where the rebel troops lay, and where we could 
find a colored slave, who would ferry us over the Hiawassee 
(which runs down from North Carolina into the Tennessee), as 
they had done over the Chattahoochee. We assured them that 
they would soon be free, and parted with a mutual ‘ God bless 
you!’ 

“With thankful hearts we pressed on, made a good night’s 
journey, and then laid by until evening of the next day. See¬ 
ing a house on the edge of the woods, we watched it until assured 
that only an old man and woman were there, when we went boldly 
up to it and asked for supper, which was given with some reluc¬ 
tance. 

“ Early in the evening journey we came to a small stream, and 
attempting to cross on a fallen tree, I fell into the water, and was 
thoroughly soaked. From this cause I suffered greatly with cold. 
Some hours after we came to a barn, the mows of which were 
filled with corn-blades. We were glad to bury ourselves out of 
sight in the fodder, where we grew warm, and slept all day. It 
was comfortable, but we paid for it by a terrible fright. Some 
cavalrymen came into the stable under the mows and took out 
their horses. We could hear their conversation and the jingle 
of their spurs, and scarcely dared to breathe. But they left us 
in safety. We stayed a day longer, as the bed was the best we 
had found since our first capture. But a negro boy came up to 
hunt eggs, and found us. He was so frightened that we could not 
pacify him, and, fearing an alarm, we hastened to the woods once 
more. Some negroes were again met, starting on their favorite 
amusement,—an opossum-hunt. On application they gave us a 
magnificent treat,—a hatful of apples, a half ‘pone,’ and two 
or three pounds of boiled beef on a bone. This supply lasted for 
several days. 

“ On the night journey we were much annoyed by the barking 
of dogs at the houses we passed. Once we werS seen, but, pre¬ 
tending to be rebels on the way to our regiments, we succeeded 
so well in lulling suspicion that an old man sent a message to his 
son, who was in the rebel army, by us, and added some corn- 
bread for the messengers. 

“ I here became more lame than ever, by reason of an unfor¬ 
tunate misstep, and had to walk by leaning part of my weight 
upon my faithful comrade. We came to a wide river we could 
not cross, and, going back into the fields, lay on the damp ground 
till morning. If 1 ever tasted cold, it was then. Hawkins be¬ 
came reckless from suffering, and was disposed to go to a house, 
even at the risk of capture. But I demurred, and we waited for 
an opportunity to communicate with the ever-faithful negroes. 
We found a hut, and, watching it some time, saw none but a 
black woman there. She readily responded to our appeal for 
help, gave us a hot breakfast, a fire to warm by, and some 
parched corn to carry on our journey. She also directed us to a 


270 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


ford. Thanking her from our hearts, we returned to the river, 
got over, and concealed ourselves in the woods on the other side. 

“ With the coining of night we once more took up our weary 
way. Towards morning we saw a large encampment of whites 
and colored people. All were asleep except one of the latter. 
We approached, and, in a whisper, asked him who they were. 
He told us of the retreat of Bragg’s army from Kentucky, and 
that these were a band of fugitives coming South with their slaves 
to avoid the Union army. To us this was a serious matter. A 
large army, with all its baggage, and the country full of pickets, 
directly in our front, was a great addition to our danger. The 
colored man gave us all the scanty information he possessed about 
the position of the army. Hawkins, spying a covered skillet near 
the fire, winked at our friend, got an assenting nod, and reached 
for it. It had two baked sweet potatoes, which we appropriated, 
and departed as noiselessly as we had advanced. Twenty-four 
hours after, we had reached the Hiawassee Iiiver. We called 
lustily for the ferryman, and, to our exceeding delight, were 
answered by the very slave our colored friends on the Chatta¬ 
hoochee had said would be willing to ferry us over. 

“ With his counsel, for we trusted him with the secret of our 
being escaped prisoners, we resolved to go down the Hiawassee 
to its junction with the Tennessee. To do this, however, it would 
he necessary to pass round the rebel camp at Charleston, a few 
miles farther down the river. This was Friday, and, by waiting 
until Saturday, the young man could get a pass good until Mon¬ 
day, and could pilot us around Charleston. We resolved to wait. 
He treated us royally,—shared his scanty allowance of food with 
us, for he had only a slave’s rations, doctored my ankle, kept us 
in his best bed —a feather one —overnight, though, for pruden¬ 
tial reasons, we hid in the woods during the day, and, on start¬ 
ing, gave us a bottle of molasses and a piece of pork. We floated 
down near camp in a ‘ dug-out’ canoe, then left the river and 
surrounded the enemy. Our pilot was obliged to leave us before 
we got back to the river below the town, but he put us on the 
banks of a small stream, which we had only to follow down to 
its mouth. This we reached by two p.m., and amused ourselves 
by cracking walnuts and hickory-nuts in a solitary place until 
dark, when we hunted up an old dilapidated canoe. It was a 
miserable boat, and gave us enough to do in bailing as well as 
paddling it. We soon saw a better craft, with good paddles, tied up, 
and, as the owner was not there, we ‘ traded’ without difficulty. 

“ The stars were shining brightly when we again pushed off, 
and the water was as clear as crystal, though not deep. We dried 
our wet clothes, and felt very much more comfortable. Save an 
occasional whisper between us and the soft ripple of the oars, 
silence was unbroken. This was the most peaceful and satisfac¬ 
tory night’s travel we had yet made. 

“ At daybreak we hid the boat and nestled away in some dry 
leaves, and after the sun got high enough to warm us, slept by 


ROMANTIC ESCAPES. 


271 


turns till afternoon. Then we noticed an island half a mile far¬ 
ther down the river, and, as we had seen nobody the whole day, 
and the place appeared perfectly solitary, we resolved to explore 
it. . Nothing was found, but we saw a house on the east bank, 
which we watched until sundown, and seeing only women about 
it, resolved to try for supper. We got a good square meal, but 
judge our dismay at finding a good number of ladies, and, soon 
after, a few men, also, at the place. It was a ‘ quilting,’ and 
they were to dance that evening. But we told a new story. We 
had been working at a saw-mill in the mountains, were now out 
of employment, and were going to Chattanooga to look for a job. 
They warned us that we would be arrested at Chattanooga, and 
would have to go to jail or join the army. They seemed to care 
nothing for the war, and to have no disposition to molest us. 
We assured them that we would be all right in Chattanooga, as 
we were ‘personally acquainted with General Leadbetter. They 
looked doubtful, and in parting they said, in a rather insinuat¬ 
ing manner, that they wished us a safe journey to Chattanooga. 
Probably they were Unionists, but we dared not risk a discovery. 
I tried, unsuccessfully, to steal a quilt, which we greatly needed. 
The night was overcast, the water was very shallow in places, 
and some tree-tops were in the way. We had to get out, pull 
our boat out of these obstructions and into deeper water, and 
then, wet to the skin, to re-embark and paddle on. 

“ About midnight we came to what seemed to be a ferry, where 
the river was deeper and wider than it had been before. Sud¬ 
denly two shots were fired at us. We lay down in the bottom 
of the boat, and, taking in our paddles, let her float down stream, 
while we did not move a muscle. I suppose it was a picket of 
the enemy, who, after firing once, concluded that our boat was 
only a floating log, and took no further trouble. After getting, 
as we supposed, out of danger, we again seized the paddles, and 
an hour of vigorous work brought us to the river’s mouth, and 
out on the broader Tennessee. 

“We were very reluctant to abandon the river navigation, but 
it was manifestly dangerous to continue it further, and useless as 
well, unless we were prepared to take the risk of running by 
Chattanooga. So we rowed to the north side of the Tennessee, 
and turned our trusty craft adrift, while we started across the 
mountains. The first road we crossed gave evidence of the pas¬ 
sage of a large body of troops, and thus warned us that we were 
probably in danger of becoming entangled in the scouts and de¬ 
tachments of Bragg’s army, now on its retreat from Kentucky. 
Two boys we found by a fire in a school-house—they had been 
out ‘ coon ’-hunting—confirmed this report. Soon we saw their 
camp-fires, and ascending a mountain, where we supposed we 
would be safer than in the valleys, waited for morning. When 
it came, an appalling sight met our view,—a large division of 
Bragg’s army, with its seemingly endless baggage-trains, well 
guarded by cavalry, was spread out beneath us. All day long 


272 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


we watched their movements from our eyrie with breathless 
anxiety. We resolved at night to turn to the northeast instead 
of keeping due north, as we had intended. Before we had gone 
far, Hawkins whispered in my ear, ‘ Dorsey, we mustn’t crack 
any corn to-night.’ Rebel pickets and scouts were no doubt on 
every side of us. The mountain-side was steep and covered with 
loose stones, where travelling, even by day, would have been dif¬ 
ficult; at night, in the presence of the enemy, it was terrible! 
We came to a picket, and were only saved from running right 
into it by the snuffling of a horse. We slipped away a short dis¬ 
tance from the road, and lay down. Soon a squad of cavalry 
passed up the road, and we crossed it right behind them, anxious 
to get out of that dangerous neighborhood while the sound of 
their hoofs drowned any noise we might make. We moved very 
cautiously, again ascended the mountain-side, and near daybreak 
came to a halt and went into camp,—that is, hid in the brush. 

“ When the light came we could see the enemy no more, hut 
heard his wagons rumbling off in the distance. The immediate 
danger from that source was over. Our stock of provision, 
which was only a little parched corn, was almost exhausted ; and 
as the mountain seemed to be uninhabited, we resolved to move 
forward in the afternoon. We found a negro, who, for a wonder, 
could not or would not give any provisions or information. Late 
in the night we rested, tying some hushes together to make a 
rude shelter, and both sleeping, for nature was almost overcome. 
Food and water were also very low, but in the morning we pressed 
on, halting when our waning strength failed, and going on when 
strength allowed. 

“ Yery impressive were some of the hours spent in watching 
on the Cumberland Mountains. One of us would sleep in per¬ 
fect trust, while the other watched and thought. The lofty peaks, 
the wide landscape, and the rising and setting sun were doubly 
solemn in the profound silence, and amid the mighty forests of 
that region. I can never forget the beauty of nature associated 
with so much of peril. 

“ But there were other hours of very prosaic toil. Once we 
had to force our way on hands and knees through a mass of briers 
a quarter of a mile wide. Several times we hunted persimmons 
by moonlight,—Hawkins shaking them off, while I crawled on 
hands and knees feeling for them. Many adventures similar to 
those already narrated were encountered. Near a ford of the 
Sequatchie River we found a quilted skirt hanging out, which we 
appropriated, tore in two, and, making a hole in the middle of 
each piece for our heads, found ourselves possessed of passable 
undershirts, which we needed sorely, as it was now colder than 
ever. The ford was waded with our clothes taken off and tied 
on our heads. 

“ For two days more we travelled and rested alternately in the 
mountains, hungry, wet with the rain that now began to fall, 
and as solitary as if we were the only inhabitants of the globe. 



DORSEY AND HAWKINS IN THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS. 

Page 272. 
























ROMANTIC ESCAPES. 


273 


Near sundown of the second day we heard some wood-choppers 
far below us. We were so weak that we repeatedly fell as we de¬ 
scended the mountain-side. Hunger was so extreme that we re¬ 
solved to try for food from them, using the best story we could 
frame. We told them we were Confederate soldiers, who had 
been left in a hospital, from which we had run away, and were 
now trying to get to our regiments ; also that we were without 
money, and wanted food. They refused to do anything for us; 
said that soldiers had already eaten them nearly out. This re¬ 
ception encouraged us. To test them further we talked of our 
cause , its justice, certainty of success, etc. They did not pretend 
to agree with us, and, finally, told us that we were in what had 
been called 1 Lincoln District,’ because only two votes were cast 
there for secession. The conversation led them to a flat avowal 
that they were Union men. We then cautiously revealed the 
fact that we were soldiers on the same side, and the hospitality 
which had been denied before was now readily extended.” 

This proved to be a station on the “ Underground 
Railroad,” which had been organized since the opening 
of the war for the escape of Union men and prisoners 
to the Union lines in Kentucky. After the fugitives 
had completely proved their character, they were put 
under the conduct of a local celebrity, known as “ Red 
Fox,” from his skill in eluding the enemy. He con¬ 
ducted them for some distance, and gave them direc¬ 
tions to the next point, and from this they were di¬ 
rected to another. Thus they were forwarded swiftly 
and in comparative safety. Dorsey dwells with great 
gusto upon the good food and generous treatment re¬ 
ceived from these loyal mountaineers, who had no hope 
of a reward, but were glad to do anything for their loved 
and imperilled country. His expressions of gratitude 
are also frequent and hearty. One man gave them the 
only dollar he had, and would not hear of a refusal. 
Some very narrow escapes were run even after they 
were thus among friends, but they finally reached Som¬ 
erset, Kentucky. At first they were received with 
some suspicion by the Union officials, but, as soon as 
their true character was established, they enjoyed the . 
enthusiastic welcome accorded to each one of the rail¬ 
road party who returned from "the valley of the 
shadow of death.” 


274 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


FROM ATLANTA TO THE GULF. 

No fugitives passed through more romantic adven¬ 
tures than Wood and Wilson. The southward course 
they took saved them from an energetic pursuit, but 
their unwillingness to trust the negroes exposed them 
to imminent peril of starvation. The idea that any of 
our party would seek for the Gulf blockading squadron 
probably never entered the head of any pursuer. It 
was well that this route was chosen by Wilson, for in 
no other way could he possibly have succeeded in car¬ 
rying his sick comrade with him. The manner in 
which poor Wood, who had been for months suffering 
from fever, and was scarcely able to walk about the 
jail, was taken from “ Atlanta to the sea” by a starving 
comrade, would seem a most improbable invention if 
met in a work of fiction. I extract the complete ac¬ 
count of the escape, with a few unimportant omissions, 
from “The Adventures of Alf. Wilson,” written.by 
himself, and first published in book form in Toledo, 
1880. The account begins in the Atlanta jail-yard. 
The necessity for immediate flight was first seen by 
Wood, who exclaimed,— 

“ ‘ Alf, come on, quick ! the boys are getting over the fence at 
the hack of the jail; hurry up, for there’s a company of guards 
coming double-quick.’ 

“This was my old comrade, Mark Wood, and his voice was 
the first warning I had of the danger that threatened me, or of 
the necessary change in our programme. 

“ ‘Then bounce that fence!’ I yelled. We both reached the 
top of the high fence at the same instant, and not a second too 
soon, for, as I glanced over my shoulder from the fence-top, I 
saw the guards with gleaming muskets pouring in at the gate, 


FROM ATLANTA TO THE GULF, 


275 


and before I could throw my leg over and spring off a volley 
was fired, the halls rattling and whizzing all about us. One bul¬ 
let struck the picket under my thigh, arid so close that the splin¬ 
ters lacerated my flesh, and as my feet struck the ground on the 
outside, I said to Mark, ‘ I am hit.’ 

“ 1 Get up and run like-!’ exclaimed Mark. 

“ I was on my feet in an instant, not knowing whether my 
thigh was shattered or not. As I ran I clapped my hand there 
to see if it bled freely. I pulled away a lot of splinters, and had 
the satisfaction of finding that I had received only a slight flesh 
wound made by the picket splinters. Never did I make better 
use of my legs ; there was need of it, too, for the balls were spat¬ 
ting about us in the dirt uncomfortably near. They came so 
thick and closely at one time that I was almost certain that one 
or both of us would be hit; but we answered their cries of ‘ Halt! 
halt! ; by springing forward with all the speed we could com¬ 
mand. 

“ It was about a mile before we struck the cover of woods, and 
then the trees were so scattering that they afforded only a doubt¬ 
ful place for concealment. It was now every man for himself, 
and, like the Duke of Wellington at Waterloo, we longed for 
darkness or some other friendly interposition in our behalf. 
Wood had come up with me, and we dodged stealthily from one 
thicket to another until it began to grow quite dark, when we 
breathed easier and acted more deliberately, although we well 
knew we were not out of danger yet. 

“ About this time, we became aware that we were approach¬ 
ing a public road. We soon had warning that it was much bet¬ 
ter to halt, and not attempt to cross the road. The sound of gal¬ 
loping horsemen in great numbers and the clanking of sabres 
could be heard near by. We were so nearly out of breath that 
we could run no farther for the present, and, on looking hastily 
about, discovered a low, scrubby pine-bush surrounded with 
shrubbery. We both darted under its protecting shelter, and 
lay flat on the ground on our faces, neither having spoken a word 
to the other for some minutes, on account of our great exhaus¬ 
tion. We were so near the road that we could plainly see all 
the movements of the rebel cavalry, who were deploying their 
line something in the manner of skirmishers. 

“ This presented an unexpected difficulty in our way. If we 
had reached the road two minutes sooner we might have crossed 
without being seen, but we could not have been there an instant 
sooner than we were, unless we had had wings, for we had both 
run until we were ready to fall in our tracks. We had become 
separated from the rest of the party, but could still hear the re¬ 
ports of muskets, and knew that the pursuit was still going on, 
but how many of the escaping party had been killed was beyond 
our knowledge, though I had seen Captain Fry reeling and stum¬ 
bling in a manner that led me to fear he was shot. We were 
thus compelled to lie quietly for some time. While we were 



276 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


waiting here the cavalry was relieved by infantry, and formed 
into squads to scour the woods. 

“ The place where we lay was not over fifteen steps from where 
the infantry sentinel was stationed. We could hear every word 
he spoke to the man on the next post. Their comments on the 
affair at the jail would have been amusing to us under less serious 
circumstances, and I wish I could give their words exactly now, 
for they were ludicrous enough. 

“Some time late in the evening, while we were still lying 
under the bush, we became aware that some one was -approach¬ 
ing us very quietly. In the dark we could recognize the dim 
outlines of two men, and we felt certain, as they came so near us 
that we could have almost touched them, that it was two of our 
comrades ; but we dare not even whisper to them, lest we should 
cause them to betray themselves, and, perhaps, us too. They 
were, evidently, from the cautious manner in which they moved, 
aware that they were very close to the rebel guards. These men, 
I afterwards learned, were Porter and Wollam. 

“ After waiting a short time to see if they were discovered, 
and hearing nothing of them, we began to crawl out, concluding 
that there was no probability of the guards leaving that night. 
I should j*udge the sentries were stationed about thirty paces 
apart, and to get out there was no alternative but to pass be¬ 
tween them. I selected a place and crawled to the other side of 
the road safely, and then lay perfectly still, while Mark did the 
same. My hair fairly stood on end as he wriggled along, for it 
seemed to me once or twice as if one of the sentries would cer¬ 
tainly discover him before he would reach me. This was one of 
our most narrow escapes. 

“ We were no more than safely across the road when a new 
and unseen obstacle, in the shape of a high fence, presented itself, 
over which we must climb before we could breathe free. We 
crawled carefully to the fence, and by great patience and much 
care, one at a time, managed to get over without attracting the 
attention of the guards. We felt as if we had accomplished 
quite an achievement when at last we had escaped beyond the 
fence a few steps and found ourselves in an open field, where we 
could push ahead noiselessly, and when, at last, we got away en¬ 
tirely out of hearing, we struck out on a full run. At the far 
side of the field we came to a small stream, in which we travelled 
some distance in the water, to take precaution against pursuit by 
dogs. Soon after, we struck a thick piece of woods on the slope 
of a hill-side, which we continued to ascend under the thick fo¬ 
liage for some time. But, at last, exhausted Nature asserted her 
full sway, and we were compelled to lie down and rest out of 
sheer inability to go farther. 

“ Up to this time, I think, neither of us had spoken any more 
than if we had been dumb. As we threw ourselves on the 
ground, without breath or strength to go farther, we began to 
realize the weak, helpless condition we were in. It did not ap- 


FROM ATLANTA TO THE GULF. 


277 


pear as if our limbs were strong enough to carry us five miles a 
day. When we looked forward to the long journey ahead of us, 
the hunger and fatigue, it looked a little discouraging. I think, 
however, a portion of this sense of physical prostration was 
caused by the sudden relaxation from the great mental strain 
and excitement which had been upon us from the time of the 
jail-break and immediately preceding it. This, with the intense 
exertion in running, in our enfeebled condition, had wellnigh 
unnerved us. We were wild, too, almost, with joy at our escape. 

“ But we had but little time to rest, rejoice, or feel thankful 
in. Many contingencies yet stood between us and the goal of 
our hopes. Many armed enemies; many long, weary miles of 
travel; many rivers lay across our path, and many days of hun¬ 
ger and many sleepless nights, if we would succeed. 

11 Before we escaped from the prison I studied over the subject 
of routes very carefully. I had seen enough of night travel in 
the mountains about Chattanooga and along the Tennessee 
Biver, and well knew that the probabilities of our being picked 
up, should we go in that direction, would be very much greater. 
I therefore decided in my own mind that I would strike out for 
the Gulf, and try to reach some of the vessels of the Federal 
blockading squadron. While this would be much the longest 
route,—the distance, as near as I could calculate, being over 
three hundred miles,—I thought there would be less vigilance 
and liability of pursuit in that direction. In this conjecture it 
turned out that I was correct. The country was entirely un¬ 
known to me, except a slight general idea I had of it from the 
school geographies. I only knew that the waters of the Chatta¬ 
hoochee Kiver, which flowed west of Atlanta, entered the Gulf. 

“ While we rested on the hill-side I communicated, in a whis¬ 
per, to Mark my views, and he readily agreed that he would go 
in any direction I thought best. Accordingly, we rose up and 
walked to an open place where we could see the stars, and soon 
determined our course, which was to be slightly south of west, 
and at once we set out as fast as we could travel. We spoke no 
words as we walked on, and went as noiselessly as possible, for 
we were on the look-out for scouting parties of cavalrymen that 
might be prowling about. 

“We soon came to the railroad track leading from Atlanta to 
Columbus, and knew from this that our course was about right. 
Our march led us through some rough country, and we were 
compelled to rest quite frequently, so that when it began to grow 
light in the east we estimated that we were about eight miles 
from the prison. We sought out a secluded retreat for the day, 
and after getting each of us a stout stick, which would answer 
either as a weapon or a walking-stick, we lay down and slept 
until late in the afternoon. We woke up much rested, but were 
so lame and our feet were so sore that we could hardly take a 
step without excruciating pain. We were hungry, and the 
scanty morsel of corn-bread we had brought from the prison the 

24 


278 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


previous evening did not go far towards satisfying our sharp ap¬ 
petites. But it was all we had, and we ate it and were thankful, 
although we did not know where or when we would get our 
next rations. 

“ I now saw a difficulty in this attempt to get away that we 
did not encounter in our first attempt to reach the Federal lines. 
Our clothes had become dirty and ragged, and we had a sort of 
jail-bird look, that it seemed to me would betray us if we were 
seen. I was brought to a realization of this fact as I looked at 
Wood, when we sat together in silence beneath the great tree 
where we had taken shelter, waiting for the friendly mantle of 
darkness to shield our movements. And I suppose my own ap¬ 
pearance was no more prepossessing than his. The miserable 
garments he wore did not cover his nakedness. His face was be¬ 
grimed with dirt almost set in the skin. He had become thin and 
emaciated with fever, and had a ravenous appetite; his eyes were 
sunken in his head and seemed to have the wild, unnatural glare 
of a madman, which at times almost made me shudder. The 
poor fellow’s pitiable appearance, as he sat there despondently and 
longingly gazing down on the beautiful valley below, was such 
as to appeal to a heart of stone. Yet I knew that it was unsafe 
for us to go to a house, and we agreed not to be seen by a human 
being if we could avoid it. I felt certain that if we should meet 
any one, our appearance would at once betray us. W T e were in 
a country where we could not expect to find a friend, unless, 
possibly, it might be the negroes, of whom, as a class, we knew 
but very little. We were so weak, and the mental strain and 
long-continued anxiety, in which we had lived from day to day, 
had had the effect of making us, I may say, foolishly suspicious 
and timid of everything. We were startled at every sudden 
noise, and crouched like sneaking wolves from the sight of man. 

11 While in the midst of unpleasant thoughts, Mark broke the 
long silence by raising his head and saying, ‘ Alf, it is time for 
us to go.’ 

“ Our journey that night took us through a corn-field, where 
we pulled a few ears of corn and chewed it as we went along. I 
remember it was hard and made my jaws very tired, but it helped 
to quiet my gnawing hunger. It was much better than nothing. 
After a toilsome night’s journey, guided by the stars, and over a 
very rough county, in which we entirely avoided roads, we again 
secreted ourselves as the streaks of gray began to appear in the 
east, and, after scraping up a pile of leaves, lay down for the day. 
When we awoke, late in the afternoon, we found that our feet 
were so bruised and sore, and that we were otherwise so lame, 
and withal so weak from hunger, that it taxed our endurance to 
the utmost to take a single step. We each took from our pockets 
an ear of corn, and after crunching and swallowing what we 
could, we put the rest in our clothes and hobbled off, making but 
very slow time for the first mile or so. It was in the month of 
October, and the nights were pretty cool, which, in our poorly- 


FROM ATLANTA TO THE GULF. 279 

clad condition, compelled us to keep moving all the time to keep 
comfortably warm. 

“The next morning came and still we had not reached the 
river. Again we hid ourselves and slept through the day. When 
night came and we tried to walk, we found our feet in such a 
deplorable condition that it did not seem possible for us to go 
farther. Mark crawled some distance on his hands and knees, 
and, looking back at me, said in an appealing tone, ‘ Alf, what’s a 
fellow’s life but a curse to him when he has to drag it out in this 
way ? I would rather he dead and done with it.’ 

“ I encouraged him, telling him the worst was over and we 
would soon reach the river. I suppose we had shaped our course 
a little too far south, and thus made the distance longer than it 
would otherwise have been. We struggled on for some time, 
crawling where the ground was stony, and stopping very often to 
temporarily quell the pain in our feet. I was a little ahead, and, 
as the breeze fanned my aching temples, I thought I heard to 
our right the lull of running water. I told Mark and cheered 
him up. We forgot our tortures for the time being and scrambled 
on quite lively, and soon after had the satisfaction of standing on 
the banks of the Chattahoochee. 

“ De Soto did not feel more joy when he first discovered the 
Mississippi, the great Father of Waters, nor was the ecstasy of 
Balboa greater, when, from the cloud-capped summits of Darien, 
his eyes first beheld the vast expanse of water which he named the 
Pacific Ocean. Like that great discoverer, we waded out into 
the water, carrying neither naked sword nor the banner of our 
country like he, to take possession of our discovery in the name 
of our rulers, but to bathe our painful feet and cool our parched 
throats. 

“ We made certain of the direction the river current ran, and 
started southward in high hopes, although the temptation to go 
northward to our friends was very strong. We now wanted a 
boat, and, not long after we started, fortune had another pleasant 
surprise in store for us, for we canne upon a skifi* safely moored, 
with lock and chain, to a tree. After carefully inspecting the 
surroundings to see that no prying eyes were peering on us, we 
< loosened’ the lock with a stone, and in a few minutes after were 
smoothly gliding down the current of the great river, and I doubt 
if two more joyful mortals ever navigated a canoe than we two, 
with that stolen little craft. 

u What a happy change ! Our weary limbs and painful feet 
now had a rest, and yet we were gliding noiselessly on our jour¬ 
ney. What wonderful teachers hardship and stern necessity are ! 
Discontented mortals do not half appreciate the blessings they 
have until they have been pupils in the school of adversity. I 
felt as if this chilly night’s ride, in a little stolen boat, on a strange 
river, whose shores were hidden by Plutonian shadows, was the 
best and most grateful that I ever had, or ever expected to enjoy. 

u ^y e pulled off our old boots and bathed our lacerated feet in 


280 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


the water, and quenched the tormenting thirst caused by the in¬ 
digestible hard corn, which was now our only nourishment. We 
kept our paddles pretty busy, as we wished to get as far away as 
possible from where we took the boat before the dawn of day. 
When daylight began to appear, we paddled our craft into a 
bayou, safe from view, and secreted ourselves in a thicket for the 
day. 

“Four days and nights had now passed since we had eaten 
food, except the morsel of corn-bread we brought out of the 
prison. We lay down to sleep the day away, but between our 
great hunger and the swarms of mosquitoes we could get but 
little rest. I could, while sleeping, see in my dreams tables 
spread and groaning with loads of good things to eat; bread, 
meat, cheese, coffee, biscuit, and butter were all within my reach, 
and were vanishing before my ravenous appetite, when, in the 
midst of the great pleasures of this feast, I would suddenly 
waken to a sense of the reality of the case, and what a madden¬ 
ing disappointment I would feel. With this disturbed sort of 
rest we worried through the day, the demands of hunger and our 
stomachs getting the better of nature’s demand for rest, until at 
last we grew desperate, and at early twilight, in the evening, 
pulled out of the little bayou, determined on a raid of some sort 
on a house for food. 

“We spied a house some distance from the river-bank, which 
we thought from appearances we could capture with a plausible 
story or by force. 

“ On approaching, we saw in its immediate vicinity quite a 
number of negro cabins, and in the yard surrounding the house 
about twenty blood-hounds chained to the fence, indicating that 
these were the premises of an extensive planter. The only occu¬ 
pants of the house were an old man and woman. We apologized 
for disturbing them, and told them we were soldiers who had been 
on furlough returning to our regiments at Atlanta, and wished 
directions to the ferry (we had discovered a ferry as we came 
down) ; also, that we were hungry and wanted to get something 
to eat, provided they felt like feeding hungry soldiers without 
money, as we had had no pay for some time, and were both money¬ 
less and in bad health, Mark’s appearance proving this latter 
assertion. It was quite dark, however, and they could not see 
us very distinctly, but they evidently credited our story, for they 
told us to be seated and we would soon be made welcome to such 
food as they had. 

“They were a couple of quite intelligent but unsophisticated 
old people, in comfortable circumstances, living, as most South¬ 
erners did, away from any highway, and we gained their confi¬ 
dence so far as to feel ourselves assured from suspicion. I had 
been in Dixie so long that I had acquired, from the guards and 
citizens, their vernacular of speech quite perfectly; besides this, 
we had learned the names of officers and the number of different 
regiments, such as the Eighth Georgia Cavalry, Fifth Tennessee 


FROM ATLANTA TO THE GULF. 281 

Infantry, etc., until we were able to tell quite a plausible story, 
if not too closely questioned. 

“ We asked the old man if there was anj r late news. He said, 
‘ Nothing, except that the Yankee raiders had seized the Atlanta 
jailer, overpowered the guards, and a number of them escaped 
and had not yet been caught.’ We expressed great surprise that 
such a piece of audacity could be made successful in Atlanta. 
The old man said, ‘ They were a desperate, dangerous lot of 
scoundrels, who ought to have been hung long ago.’ He said 
many of them stood up and fought the soldiers with clubs and 
bricks, even after the guards had shot them through, and finally 
they jumped the high fence and ran like deer. 

“ In the mean time we had devoured everything the good 
woman had set before us on the table. We were ashamed, but 
our hunger was so much stronger than our sense of shame that 
we could not leave off, and, if we had not been in a hurry, we 
would have waited for her to have prepared another meal for us. 
She said she regretted that she had not more cooked to set before 
us, but we told her she had been very kind, and thanked them, 
at the same time bidding them good-night, when we started off, 
as they supposed, for the ferry. A short time afterwards we were 
in our boat pulling down-stream with more vigorous energy than 
we had before. We kept up a steady stroke of the paddles for 
some hours, feeling that each stroke placed so much more dis¬ 
tance between us and the prison. 

“While we were thus moving along with steady, cautious 
stroke, high in the hopes of the future, I suddenly, quicker than 
a flash, found myself lying flat on my back in the river. What 
on earth had happened I did not know, the accident had been so 
6udden. I thought of earthquakes, whales, sharks, torpedoes, 
and many other things. Luckily, one of my feet caught on the 
side of the boat, and I drifted with it until Mark came to my as¬ 
sistance and pulled me out. The cause of my mishap had been a 
ferry-boat wire, which was stretched across the river, and hung 
just low enough to catch me fairly as I sat in the stern of the boat. 
It struck Mark, but he sat in the middle, and fell into the bottom 
of the boat. We were going at a good speed, and the collision 
came so suddenly that it is a wonder we did not fare worse. For¬ 
tunately, there were no guards at the ferry, so we had no cause 
to apprehend discovery or molestation. My greatest mishap was 
a thorough wetting, for the night was frosty and cold, and caused 
me to chill. 

“ This was followed in the after part of the night by a stupor 
that I could not shake off, and my continued efforts at the pad¬ 
dle had wellnigh exhausted me. Mark could not manage the 
boat very well, as he had tried it a number of times. But I felt 
that I must have rest and sleep, and so gave the boat over into 
his hands, enjoining him to keep it in the current. I lay down 
in the bottom of the boat, and soon sank into a state of forgetful¬ 
ness and sleep. I do not know how long I had slept, but some 

24 * 


282 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


time in the night Mark aroused me, and told me we could go no 
farther, as we had come 1 to the end of the river.’ It was some 
time before he could awaken me fully to consciousness, so that I 
could comprehend our situation. 

“At last I began to look around, to determine what Mark’s 
‘ end of the river’ meant. I soon discovered that he had run the 
boat away under a ledge of the mountain, and a dim light could 
only he seen in one direction. All else around us was impene¬ 
trable darkness. I took the paddle, and worked the boat in the 
direction of the light, and in a little while we emerged from be¬ 
neath this overhanging mountain ledge, and again reached the cur¬ 
rent of the river, down which the boat was soon rapidly gliding. 
Mark now discovered that the ‘ end of the river’ had not yet been 
reached, but he did not care to take charge of the boat again. 

“Shortly after this adventure we perceived that we were not 
to have smooth sailing all the way. The river began to grow 
rough, and the water ran over benches and ledges of rocks, and, 
in places, with great velocity, so much so that we narrowly es¬ 
caped being ‘ broken up’ on several occasions during this night’s 
journey. We passed over a number of places that we would not 
have dared to risk in daylight, when we could have seen the dan¬ 
ger. It seemed to grow worse and worse as we went on, when 
daylight warned us that it was time to tie up and hide, which we 
did, and, the day being warm and pleasant, we had a comfortable 
rest,—the best since our escape. 

“ On the following night we came to a mill-dam, where the 
water, judging from the noise, poured over in great volume and 
force. We manmuvred around for some time above it, not 
knowing what to do, but finally discovered what appeared to be 
an apron near the centre of the dam, and decided to risk run¬ 
ning it. Accordingly, we rowed up-stream some distance to get 
under good headway, then turning the head of the boat down¬ 
stream, we bent to our paddles with all our might. We came 
down with the velocity of an express-train. What we supposed 
might have been an apron, was nothing but a break in the dam, 
and over it we shot like an arrow, shutting our eyes and holding 
our breath. In an instant after, we landed (luckily right side 
up) away below in the midst of the angry, foaming torrent, and 
plying our paddles right vigorously, and keeping the bow of our 
boat down-stream, we rode out safely, but then and there ‘ swore 
off’ on running mill-dams in the night. 

“ We continued our journey, though the river was still rough 
and growing worse. We were constantly among rocks and 
foaming, headlong torrents of water, while steep rocky walls 
confined the stream to very narrow limits, and dark, shadowy 
mountain peaks loomed up in the background, reminding us of 
the Tennessee about Chattanooga. We went on from bad to 
worse, until at last, during the latter part of the night, we were 
incautiously drawn into a gorge, where it seemed that the de¬ 
struction of our boat was inevitable. Such was the force and 


FROM ATLANTA TO THE GULF. 


283 


velocity of the water, that we lost all control of the boat, and in 
one instant would he spinning around in a furious eddy until 
our heads were fairly dizzy, and in the next we would be dashed 
against the rocks until it seemed as if our boat would be splin¬ 
tered to pieces. We regarded our escape here as the narrowest 
we had made, and as quick as we could do so with safety we 
landed on the rocks and, with many regrets, abandoned our little 
craft to begin a tedious, toilsome land journey of three days and 
nights over rocky hills, bluffs, and mountains along the river. 

“Just as we landed from the boat Mark started to walk out, 
and, losing his balance, fell headlong into the river. With con¬ 
siderable difficulty I fished him out, and, the early morning 
being quite cool, the poor fellow was chilled through and 
through, and it was with the greatest difficulty that I finally 
succeeded in getting him up into the mountains, and continued 
to exercise him by walking, so as to get up a good circulation of 
his blood. But he became so benumbed that I finally let him 
lie down, and gathered a lot of cedar boughs and piled them 
thickly over him, and then crawled in with him myself, and 
kept him as warm as possible. Here we slept and rested until 
late in the afternoon of that day, which became very warm 
under the bright rays of the sun. 

“ Our progress was very slow, and towards the last extremely 
painful. The old bruises and blisters on our feet, which were 
not entirely healed, came back worse than ever, and much of the 
time we crept along on the rocks on our hands and knees, be¬ 
lieving that if once we could get below this range of mountains, 
we would find navigable waters. We came in sight of several 
isolated cabins in these wild, rocky hills, where we managed to 
beg a little food on two different occasions, which helped us very 
much. The suffering we endured on our last night’s travel I 
cannot describe. It seemed as if we must give up and die where 
we were. But at last, when daylight came, to our great del ight 
we saw the spires and smoke-stacks of a town in the distance. 
We knew this to he Columbus, Georgia, and that when we got 
below it the river was navigable clear to the Gulf. 

“ We now deemed it prudent to hide ourselves for the day, 
which we had not done in the mountains, and wait for the 
friendly cloak of darkness. When night came we made a long, 
careful detour away out around the suburbs of the town, and at 
last had the satisfaction of again reaching the river-bank, below 
the town, where we found good shelter among the dense grape¬ 
vines and drift-wood. By this time it was nearly morning again, 
and, like beasts of prey, we betook ourselves to a safe hiding- 
place. 

“ During all the time we had been in the vicinity of the town 
we had heard a constant clattering sound, as of a hundred work¬ 
men with hammers. This noise came from near the river, where 
there appeared also to be a great light. When daylight came 
the noise still continued, and we were near enough so that we 


284 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


could see that it was caused by a large number of workmen en¬ 
gaged on a vessel, which they were covering with iron. The 
boat appeared to be very large and of great strength, and evi¬ 
dently was intended for a warlike purpose. On closer inspection 
the following night I found that she was a powerfully-built 
gunboat, which they were evidently in great haste to complete, 
as the hammers of the workmen never ceased on her, night or 
day, nor for a single moment. 

“ This gunboat was none other than the rebel ram { Chattahoo¬ 
chee,’ a formidable iron monster, built as an engine of destruc¬ 
tion for the blockading fleet in Appalachicola Bay. The first 
knowledge the Navy Department had of her was through Wood 
and myself. The ram, on her first downward trip, blew up near 
the mouth of Flint River, and never reached the Gulf. 

“ Our great anxiety now was to secure a boat. Wood was so 
lame he could not walk, and I was not much better. This de¬ 
layed us here two days and nights. During the nights I was 
prowling about, up and down, trying to discover some sort of a 
craft that would float. In my reconnoitring about the gunboat 
I had discovered an old skiff chained to a stump quite near and 
in plain sight of the workmen, to some of whom, no doubt, it 
belonged. I secured a stout stick for a lever, and crept to the 
stump to which the boat was chained, when, watching my op¬ 
portunity, I got a pry in such a manner as to break the lock on 
the chain. The lights shone so brightly that I could plainly see 
the men’s eyes, and I very much feared they would notice me. 
However, I worked off with the boat carefully, and half an hour 
after I had Mark aboard, and we were pulling rapidly down¬ 
stream. We found our prize to be a leaky old concern, and one 
of us was constantly busy keeping her bailed out. 

“ After we had drifted down some miles, we spied three boats tied 
to the shore on the Alabama side of the river, and as we had been 
giving our attention entirely to the Georgians all along, we con¬ 
cluded to trade boats on that side of the river, provided we could 
secure a better boat. Just as we had loosened the one we selected, 
three men with a pack of dogs came down the hill towards us, 
and the head man, evidently the owner, began hallooing to us 
and calling us slanderous names, such as thieves and the like. 
We did not stop to bandy words with the fellows, but speedily 
shoved all the boats into the river, and took a course up the 
river, as though we were going towards Columbus. They rent 
the air with curses upon our heads. In the course of fifteen or 
twenty minutes they had secured the boats we shoved into the 
stream, and with the lights they carried we could distinctly see 
that they were bent on pursuing us. We took a wide circuit, 
and then headed downward under cover of the willows, behind 
several small islands near the Georgia shore, and came out in the 
main stream far below the islands, while we had the satisfaction 
of seeing the lights of our pursuers disappearing up the river 
and prowling about the upper end of the islands, which we were 


FROM ATLANTA TO THE GULF. 


285 


now leaving far behind. We soon lost sight of them, and the 
strong presumption is that they never succeeded in finding their 
boat. 

“We increased our speed, and kept under the shadows of the 
wooded shores as much as possible, congratulating each other on 
our lucky boat trade. With a good boat and an open river we 
felt now that our chances of escape were exceedingly good, and 
our spirits were buoyant and hopes high, although our stomachs 
were craving food. But on we swept, hour after hour, down the 
broad river, happy in the thought that we were fast placing 
scores of miles between us and the hated prison. The rest given 
our feet had much allayed the pain we suffered, and when morn¬ 
ing came and we had secreted ourselves for the day, we slept well, 
but awoke in the afternoon ravenously desperate for want of 
something to eat. 

“We went out, and, reconnoitring a little, discovered a corn¬ 
field. Making sure that there was no one about, we stole into 
the field and found plenty of corn and pumpkins. The hard 
corn and river water did not go well together, and proved to be 
an unpleasant diet to us, so we broke up the pumpkins, ate freely 
of the seed, and filled our pockets with more for lunch, each of 
us taking also a few ears of corn. By the time we got back it 
was nearly dark, and we pulled out. The pumpkin-seed diet, 
poor as it was, helped us wonderfully, and we made a big night’s 
journey, passing a steamboat upward bound, which we dodged 
by pulling under the shadows of the timber and low-hanging 
bushes. 

“ Thus we progressed, travelling by boat at night and laying 
by in the daytime. If any reader of this story has ever made a 
trip on the lower end of the Chattahoochee River, I think he 
or she will agree with me when I say that the river scenery is 
peculiarly monotonous and causes a sense of loneliness. It is a 
vast water-path through dense forests of cypress and other 
swamp-growing timber. On either side, to the right and left, were 
endless swamps covered with water, and the river-channel was 
only observable by its being free from logs and gigantic trees. 
Great festoons of gray and sombre moss hung suspended from 
even the topmost limbs of these trees, reaching clear down to the 
water, and floated and swung to the music of the sighing winds. 
Perhaps it was the circumstances in our case that made us feel 
so, but I remember it as a dismal, lonesome journey. Sometimes 
we would not see a sign of civilization for forty-eight hours at a 
stretch. 

“ Besides the torments of hunger, our nights were made almost 
unendurable by the swarms of blood-thirsty mosquitoes, which 
came upon us in clouds. I did think that I had learned consider¬ 
able about mosquitoes in my boyhood days in the Black Swamp of 
Northwestern Ohio, but for numbers, vocal powers, and ferocity 
I will 4 trot’ the Chattahoochee swamp fellows out against any 
others I have ever ‘met up with.’ The ragged clothing, which 


286 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


yet clung to our backs, did not much more than half cover us ; 
especially was this the case with Wood, who was, I may truth¬ 
fully say, half naked, and was thus doubly annoyed by the omni¬ 
present ‘ skeeters.’ And my own condition was but little better. 
To protect ourselves from the pests, we thatched our bodies all 
over with great skeins of moss, and two more comical-looking 
beings than we were, thus rigged out, it would be hard to find, 
but it baffled the bills of our "tormentors. 

“We had two other annoyances,—moccasin-snakes and alli¬ 
gators. The latter, with which the water swarmed as we went 
farther towards the Gulf, were a terror to me. They were a 
ferocious, hungry, dangerous-looking beast at best. We knew 
but little of their habits. The largest water inhabitant I had 
ever seen was a Maumee Eiver cat-fish, and the most dangerous, 
a Black Swamp massasauger. Night or day these 1 gators,” as 
the Southern negroes call them, like the mosquitoes, were always 
within sight and hearing. Sometimes during the day, in order 
to keep out of the water, we would take shelter in a pile of drift¬ 
wood. When we would wake up, after a short nap, every old 
log and hommock about us would be covered with ‘ gators.’ 
They would lie listlessly and lazily, with eyes almost shut, look¬ 
ing hungrily and quizzically out of one corner of their wicked 
peepers, as if waiting for us to leave, or for a chance to nab one 
of us by the leg or arm and run. Mark grew superstitious of 
these creatures. He said he had read of wolves following a fam¬ 
ished buffalo in the same manner, and that sharks would hover 
around a ship from which a corpse was to be cast overboard, and 
that, too, even days before death had occurred or was even sus¬ 
pected by the sailors. But the £ gators’ were cowardly fellows, 
and, on the least demonstration on our part, would scramble 
into the water. Still we feared that they might steal upon and 
lay hold of us with their powerful jaws while we were asleep. 
We had learned that they were not apt to attack, except when 
the object of their voracious appetites lay quiet; but, when once 
they did lay hold, that they were hard to beat off. They will 
drag their victim, be it man or beast, instantly under the water, 
where the struggle soon ends. 

“ After enduring hunger as long as we possibly could, we were 
finally forced a second time since leaving Columbus to go in 
search of something to eat. This, I think, was about five or ten 
miles above Chattahoochee landing. It is not necessary to relate 
the particulars of our search for a human habitation, and the 
story of deception we told. It was a little before dark when we 
struck out on foot so weak, hungry, and faint that we could not 
walk many steps without resting, in search of something or any¬ 
thing we could devour. We were successful, or partially so, at 
least, and came back safely, much strengthened, as well as elated 
over our gpod luck, when, to our great dismay and chagrin, we 
found that our boat had been stolen during our absence. 

“ It was evident some one had seen us land and watched until 


FROM ATLANTA TO THE GULF. 


287 


we left, and then taken the boat. I cannot describe our feelings. 
We scarcely knew what to do. The night was very dark, and it 
rained incessantly. We waded about in the water, tall grass and 
cane, and after a while found a little mound or hommock, which 
projected above the water, and on which we perched ourselves 
_for the night. Such a dismal, long, rainy night as it was, too I 
It did seem as if the mosquitoes would carry us away piecemeal 
towards morning, when the rain had ceased. Had it not been 
for the food we had eaten, I believe we would have given up in 
despair. When morning came, we waded up and down in the 
cane and grass all forenoon, and about the only discovery we made 
was that another river came in just below us, and we could not 
go farther without a boat. 

“ During the afternoon I descried something on the far side 
of the river that looked like a boat partly sunk in the water, one 
end only of which was out. The next trouble was to get to it, 
as the river was about three-quarters of a mile wide, as near as 
we could judge. We found an old piece of plank, which we 
lashed on three flat rails with a grape-vine,, and with a piece of 
narrow stave for a paddle and to fight off ‘gators,’ I twined my 
legs firmly around the centre of the frail craft, while Mark pushed 
it off into the stream and stood at the edge of the grass watching 
me. The raft sunk down until the water came about my waist, 
but I stuck to it, and after about an hour’s hard work I effected 
a landing on the far side, and not long after found myself re¬ 
warded in the possession of a much better boat than the one we 
had lost the night before. I was not long in bailing out the 
water and rowing her back to where Mark was, whose gratitude 
found expression in tears and hearty hand-shaking, as he crept 
into the boat with me. 

“ We now plied our paddles energetically for a while, until we 
felt sure we had passed out of reach of the owners of the boat, 
when we put into the cane and secreted ourselves until night. 
After this mishap in losing our boat, we resolved that we would 
not both leave again while our journey lasted, starve or no starve. 
During the following day, while we were laid up waiting for 
night and fighting mosquitoes, I went out, skulking about to see 
what I could see, and in passing through an old field found some 
fish-hooks and lines in an old vacant cabin. I appropriated them, 
and we found them a godsend to us, for they proved the means 
of keeping us from actual starvation. 

“ We must have had a touch of scurvy, for our mouths and 
gums had become feverish, and our teeth were loose, and would 
bleed constantly when we attempted to chew the corn. This was 
the condition we were in when, providentially, we became pos¬ 
sessed of the fish-hooks and lines. 

“And now for a feast on raw cat-fish, of which we caught a 
plentiful supply as we journeyed on in the night. I have pre¬ 
viously neglected to mention that I had with me an old one- 
bladed knife without any back, which was our only weapon, de- 


288 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


fensive or offensive. This old knife I had secreted when we were 
in the Atlanta prison, and had kept it with me as a precious treas¬ 
ure during all our wanderings. With this knife and our fingers 
we managed to skin and dress- the fish, which we ate raw with 
our soaked corn. Matches we had none, nor had we been able 
to get any, and so we had no fire. I could eat only a mouthful 
or two of the raw fish at a time. My stomach was weak and 
feverish, and rebelled against the flesh. Still it tasted palatable. 

“ Mark, poor, hungry fellow, tore it from the bones in great 
mouthfuls, like a ravenous wolf, until I would heg of him to de¬ 
sist, fearing the results. He would sit and crunch the bloody flesh, 
and look at me with a wild, strange stare, and never speak a 
word. His eyes were sunken away in his head, almost out of 
sight, and as he would seize a fresh piece the pupils of his eyes 
would dilate with the gloating, ferocious expression of a panther 
or other carnivorous wild beast. I had frequently heard of men 
losing their reason and going mad from the effects of protracted 
hunger, and I sometimes shuddered as I looked at its telling ef¬ 
fects on poor Mark’s .wasted frame, and the unnatural glare of 
his eyes. He would mutter and groan in his sleep, and some¬ 
times scream out as if pierced by a knife, when he would sud¬ 
denly start up and call my name. Towards the last of our jour¬ 
ney his condition was much of the time a cause of great anxiety 
to me. Still, after we began to eat the fish he seemed much bet¬ 
ter, and I only feared the unnatural quantities of the raw flesh 
would kill him. 

“ We were now nearing the bay, as was plain to be seen, for 
on each succeeding morning the river had grown wider. Finally 
we became well satisfied that we were nearing a large town, 
which afterwards proved to be Appalachicola, and this made us 
anxious to learn something of the state of affairs below,—whether 
there were rebel picket-boats, or obstructions, such as torpedo- 
boats and the like. 

“About this time we discovered a cabin some distance from 
the shore, and, to have a plausible excuse, I took an old pipe 
Mark had, and filled it with a few crumbs of tobacco which I 
fished from my old coat-linings, and then taking a piece of rotten 
wood which would retain fire, I left Mark with the boat and 
walked over to the house to get a light for my pipe. __ The occu¬ 
pants of the cabin proved to be an old Scotchman and his wife. 
He was very inquisitive, and asked more questions than I cared 
to answer. But I managed to evade suspicion, and at the same 
time gained considerable information. I learned that we were 
about five miles above Appalachicola, and that the Federal block¬ 
ading squadron was stationed at the mouth of the bay, eighteen 
miles below the city. I hurried back to the boat, and found 
Mark rejoicing over a little armful of sweet potatoes he had 
stolen from a negro’s canoe, which he had discovered in my ab¬ 
sence. 

“We got into the boat and at once paddled to the other side 


FROM ATLANTA TO THE GULF. 


289 


of the bay or river, where we entered into an inlet or creek, up 
which we ran for some distance, when we came to a dense cane- 
brake. Here we secreted ourselves and built a little fire, roasted 
fish and potatoes, parched corn, and dined in right royal style, 
although we felt the need of a little salt. Two hungry wolves 
never ate more ravenously than we did, although we were obliged 
to restrain ourselves, and leave oft* while yet hungry. It was 
with the utmost difficulty that I absolutely forced Mark to quit. 
After eating enough for four men, as I thought, he still begged 
for more. I finally induced him to go to sleep, and stored away 
some of the cooked fish and sweet potatoes for the next day. 

“ The information we had gained was invaluable to us, al¬ 
though I felt I had obtained it at some risk. When night came 
on we pulled out and passed down on the opposite side of the 
bay from the city, slowly and cautiously. We had moss in the 
bottom, on the sides, and in the seats of our boat for our comfort. 
As soon as we had gone well past the city, whose bright lights 
we could plainly see, we crossed the bay to the city side below 
the city, in the hope of finding a more sea-worthy boat. We 
were unable to find any other boat, however, and pulled on down 
the bay as fast as we could. While going down the bay that 
evening, we ran along in the midst of a large school of huge fish 
of some description, from which we apprehended danger every 
instant. These monsters would swim along on all sides of us, 
with great fins sticking more than a foot out of the water, and 
extended like a great fan. One of these fish could easily have 
wrecked our boat with its huge body. We hoped to reach the 
blockading fleet before daylight, but the night grew cloudy and 
we were unable^o tell what course we were running, as the bay 
grew wider and wider as we went out. We decided the best thing 
we could do was to pull for land, which we reached after midnight, 
pretty well exhausted with our hard work at the paddles. We 
tied up our boat and went to a thicket near by and slept soundly. 

“When we awoke in the morning, we were cheered by the 
beautiful surroundings,—all just as nature had fashioned them, 
for the habitation or handiwork of man was nowhere to be seen. 
Our couch had been a bed of prickly grass, that caused a sting¬ 
ing, itching sensation all over our bodies. We had slept in a 
wild .orange grove. 

“ We made a hasty breakfast on our fish and potatoes left from 
the night previous, and started for our boat; but imagine our 
surprise when we found it distant at least two hundred yards 
from the water. Mark, who had lived in the old country, ex¬ 
plained to me that this was the effect of the ocean tide, which had 
gone out since we landed, and would not come in again until that 
night. There was no safe course left us but to drag our boat to 
the water, which we did, after tugging at it for about an hour. 

“ When we were again on the water we could see the spires 
and high buildings of the city we had passed, but no sight of 
ships could we see. We took our course as well as we could, and 
n t 25 


290 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


pulled for the open sea. A little boat, which seemed to be a 
fishing-smack under full sail, passed away to the leeward of us, 
coming out from the city, and caused us no little concern, but 
she passed off, and either did not notice us or care to inquire who 
we were. We plied our paddles industriously until about the 
middle of the afternoon, when we spied an island away in the 
distance. We had been out of sight of land for some time and 
the view of the island cheered us up a little, for we knew if a 
rough sea came on that our little boat was liable to get swamped. 
This island was much farther away than we had supposed. As 
we neared it we were in some doubt as to whether we should pass 
to the right or left of it, when our decision was made by the dis¬ 
covery to the left and away in the distance of something that 
had the appearance of dead trees. 

“ In the same direction, and right in our course, was some¬ 
thing that appeared like a bar or gravel-bank. We supposed the 
old trees stood on another low island or bar beyond. But as we 
neared this bar, that which at first seemed to be dead trees began 
to take the shape of ship-masts, and we imagined that we could 
see something that looked like the dark outlines of black smoke¬ 
stacks in the blue, hazy distance. This made us quite nervous, 
and we pulled away at the paddles with renewed vigor and 
strength. Before we were scarcely conscious of it we were close 
upon the bar, and began to be puzzled how we should get by 
or around it, for it was longer than it appeared to be when first 
seen. Presently we discovered a narrow, shallow channel 
through it, and we were not long in getting our boat through. 
As we^were going through, Mark gathered in a lot of rough, 
muddy-looking lumps, which I supposed were boulders, and 
soon called for my old broken-backed knife, after which I saw him 
open one of the muddy chunks and eat something from it. Says 
I, ‘ Mark ! you starving Yank ! what in thunder are you at now V 
‘Taste this,’ says he, as he opened another muddy chunk, and 
I lapped up from the dirty shell the sweetest oyster I had ever 
tasted. 

“We were in the midst of a great oyster-bed, the like of which 
I had never before seen. I had never, in fact, seen an oyster in 
the shell before. Mark gathered up as many as he could as the 
boat passed along, and when we reached the still water we made 
quite a little feast on them as we paddled on. I think I never 
tasted anything so delicious. We were still very hungry, and 
the moist, rich, salty flavor of the oysters seemed to suit our weak, 
famished stomachs to a nicety. 

“ But our little feast was soon cut short by the certain discov¬ 
ery that the dead trees were nothing less than the masts of ves¬ 
sels. We could now plainly see the yards, cross-trees, and great 
smoke-stacks. We dropped the oysters in the bottom of the 
boat, and, though quite exhausted, the sight of the vessels so re¬ 
newed our strength that we made the little boat scud over the 
still water at a lively rate. Soon we could see the long, graceful 


FROM ATLANTA TO THE GULF. 291 

streamers waving from the peaks of the masts, and the outlines 
of the dark, sombre-looking hulls of the ships. 

“ We were now nearing the ships very fast, and were a little 
anxious to see their colors, as we had become so suspicious of 
everybody and everything that we half feared running into the 
clutches of our enemies. But we were not long in suspense, for 
suddenly a little breeze sprang up, and I shall never forget my 
joy on seeing the old flag, the glorious old stars and stripes, as 
they unfolded to the ocean breeze, and seemed to extend their 
beneficent protection over us, after nearly eight months of terri¬ 
ble bondage. We could see the field of blue, studded with its 
golden stars, and the stripes of white and red ! Yes, it was our 
flag, old E Pluribus UnumI We threw down our paddles in the 
boat, and stood up and yelled and screamed and cried like a 
couple of foolish boys lost in the woods. We could not restrain 
ourselves. Mark wanted to jump overboard and swim to the 
ships, although we were yet, perhaps, nearly a mile away,—at 
least too far to swim in his condition. After we recovered our 
senses a little, we picked up the paddles and began rowing again, 
directing our course towards the largest vessel. 

“It seems now like a dream to me,—that joyful day,—the 
most joyful, I was about to say, of my life. I believe there were 
three vessels in sight. In steering for the largest one, although 
it was the most distant, we had to pass some distance in front of 
the bow of a smaller ship or boat. We were now getting so close 
that we could plainly see the officers and men on the decks in 
their neat, blue uniforms. We could see the port-holes in the 
sides of the ships, and the black muzzles of the cannon project¬ 
ing out. This gave us much assurance, and we said to ourselves, 
‘ Good-by, rebs ! We are out of your clutches at last!’ 

“We were rowing our insignificant-looking little boat right 
along, just as though we intended to capture the biggest vessel in 
the fleet, when*a gruff voice from the ship, whose bow we were 
passing, commanded us to 1 Come to, there !’ At the same time 
we saw a grim-looking old sea-dog, in nice uniform, leaning over 
the rail, motioning us in with his hand. We turned the bow of 
our little boat towards him, and, when we came within better 
speaking distance, he interrogated us, in stentorian voice, about 
as follows: 

“ ‘ Who in-are you, and what are you paddling under my 

guns in this manner for V 

“We were half-terrified by the old fellow’s angry, stern man¬ 
ner, and did not know but we had at last fallen into the hands 
of a rebel cruiser under false colors. We did not know what to 
say to this Xmexpected, angry interrogation. We paddled on 
very slowly, while the sailors and officers began to gather in little 
squads, and look at us with mingled curiosity and merriment. 

“ Presently, the officer hailed us again, with about the same 
questions. I now stood up in our boat, and answered that we 
were two men trying to get back to God’s country, among 



292 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


friends. I was now quite uneasy, and suspicious of the situa¬ 
tion, and kept my eyes on the officer, for I perceived he was the 
commander. I shall never forget his stern but puzzled look as 
we came up under the bow of his vessel. We had been so over¬ 
joyed and excited that we had forgotten to pull the old moss, 
which covered our nakedness and protected us from the sun, 
from our backs, and we must have looked like scare-crows or 
swamp-dragons. I cannot speak so well of my'own appearance 
then, hut can see Mark Wood, just as he was on that joyful day, 
and a more comical, forlorn, starved-looking being cannot well 
he imagined. 

“ In our boat were a few cat-fish partly skinned, some oysters 
in the shell, some ears of scorched corn, a lot of moss, and our 
old hoots, for our feet were yet sore, and we went bare-footed 
when in the boat. 

“After scrutinizing us in silence for some little time, as we 
drifted up closer and closer, he again demanded of us some ac¬ 
count of our strange conduct and appearance. I told him we 
were enlisted Federal soldiers, and belonged to the command of 
General O. M. Mitchel, in Tennessee, to which he growled some¬ 
thing about our being £ a-long ways from camp.’ I then 

explained to him briefly that we were fugitives, and the causes 
that led to it; that we were nearly famished with hunger, and 
that, after skulking through mountains and river by night, we 
had at last souglij, protection under the old flag and the guns of 
his ship. 

“ I could see that his manner towards us had changed. He 


saw the indications of our distress. He said he had 



heard of the raiding expedition we spoke of, and commanded us 
to row up to the ladder and come up the ship’s side. We did so, 
and Wood went up the steps first. The poor fellow’s agitation 
and joy were so great, and he was so weak, that he could scarcely 
raise his feet from step to step on the ladder or stairs. The com¬ 
mander, seeing his weak, faltering condition, leaned over the 
rail, as Wood came up, and, reaching out, took hold to assist 
him, and, as he did so, the rotten bit of old moss, which covered 
Mark’s shoulder and back, all pulled off, and exposed his emaci¬ 
ated, bony skeleton, which, in truth, was nothing but skin and 
bones. The well-fed, sleek-looking sailors seemed to look on in 
horror, but not more so than the generous-hearted commander, 
who was moved almost to tears as he was reaching over to help 
me as I came to the top of the step-ladder. They stared at us in 
silent wonderment, while the sailors looked down into our little 
boat with comical curiosity.” 

We need not linger over the royal reception the 
poor fugitives met, or their joy as they partook of the 
hospitality of the commander, or even their still greater 


FROM ATLANTA TO RICHMOND . 


293 


joy when they returned to friends and comrades, who 
had long mourned them as dead. From the bright ter¬ 
mination of their sufferings we must turn, with deep 
reluctance, to the story of the unfortunate six, still in 
the power of the enemy. 


CHAPTEE XIX. 

FROM ATLANTA TO RICHMOND. 

When we resolved to break jail it was our firm be¬ 
lief that failure or recapture meant death. Yet no 
sooner was the excitement over, and we quietly back 
in prison, than hope began to whisper once more. Pos¬ 
sibly there was some mistake in the report which led 
to our desperate effort, or, if it was indeed true, the es¬ 
cape of the larger part of the band might derange the 
plan, or change the purpose of holding another court- 
martial. It is sure that our anticipations of worse treat¬ 
ment were not realized. I cannot account for the agree¬ 
able surprise we experienced in this particular. Those 
who are convinced that the mitigations of our lot were 
caused by any representations made by the Union au¬ 
thorities at Washington after our comrades had escaped 
must be mistaken, because the change took place before 
one of the fugitives had reached the Union lines. Wilson 
and Wood at Washington, as well as the others of our 
number who escaped, did make prompt representations 
to our government, which may afterwards have been 
of service to us. But these could scarcely have affected 
us during our stay in Atlanta, as the time was not suf¬ 
ficient. Possibly, it was thought by the Confederates 
that the little remnant of the band, which had already 
suffered so much, was not worth persecuting further. 



294 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


However it is explained, the succeeding two months 
we remained in Atlanta, after the attempted escape, 
was the least rigorous imprisonment endured by us in 
the South. 

Colonel Lee thought the jail no longer safe, and or¬ 
dered us to be taken to the city barracks. These were 
in the centre of Atlanta, looking out on one of its busi¬ 
est public squares. Our room was also far better than 
had been given to us before. It was large, well lighted, 
and provided with a great open fireplace, in which a 
fire was kept continually burning. Our door was never 
closed, but a sentinel stood in it, watching us, and the 
gas was burned all the night. The Confederate soldiers 
roomed all around us, and the whole large house—a 
former hotel, I think—was surrounded by a line of 
sentinels. We were in the second story, and our win¬ 
dows were not barred. We could stand by them, and 
watch the busy throng outside for hours at a time. 
All our surroundings were now of a soldierly and civ¬ 
ilized character. Our treatment was also more cour¬ 
teous and considerate than formerly. 

Probably much, if not all, of this change for the 
better may be attributed to the character of the man in 
whose charge we were now placed. Jack Wells, as he 
was familiarly called, had been a lieutenant in the regu¬ 
lar army of the United States before the war, and had 
not forgotten the traditions of the service. He had no 
feeling of resentment against us; on the contrary, 
would come around to our room and talk by the hour, 
telling us some great stories of his adventures and re¬ 
ceiving as great in return. His worst fault was intem¬ 
perance, being frequently half drunk and not seldom 
going beyond that point. In these cases, and when in 
a communicative mood, he would tell us that he did 
not care a cent which side whipped in the war,—that 
he only held his present position to avoid being con¬ 
scripted, and because he preferred having a commission 
as a volunteer to being compelled to fight as a private 


FROM ATLANTA TO RICHMOND. 


295 


conscript. But lie was an excellent disciplinarian, and 
we nowhere had less chance of escape than from under 
his watchful eye and among his well-drilled soldiers. 
He would allow no trifling with his authority, and was 
ready to punish with fearful severity, as some of our 
Tennessee comrades—who were citizens, not soldiers— 
found. In fact, he seemed to care very little for those 
who were not soldiers. 

One of these men—Mr. Pierce, who had accompa¬ 
nied us from Knoxville—one day threw his allowance 
of provisions back again into the tray in which it was 
being passed around, with a gesture of contempt, but 
without a word being spoken. The supply was very 
scanty and bad; but, as we could get no better, we 
only thought that the old man was very foolish thus to 
give up the little that he was offered. But this was 
not the end. In a few minutes a file of guards entered, 
took Pierce out, and tied his hands before his knees, 
with a stick inserted across under the knees aud over 
the arms, in that most uncomfortable position known 
to soldiers as “ bucking.” They left him in the cold 
hall all night. He was able to eat his morning allow¬ 
ance without difficulty! 

The next Tennessee sufferer was a Mr. Barker. One 
of the guards often used to tease the prisoners by ask¬ 
ing them how they liked being shut up in a prison, 
“ playing checkers with their noses on the windows,” 
etc. A complaint to the commander would probably 
have caused a cessation of such tauuts, which it was 
foolish to notice in any way. But Barker answered, 
that he need not feel so proud, for he would certainly 
be driven before long to work like a slave in the cotton- 
fields, to help pay the expenses of the war. The guard 
reported the insult, and Barker was taken to the pun¬ 
ishment-room and there suspended, head downwards, 
till he fainted. This was repeated two or three times, 
and he was then put into a dark cell, only four feet 
square, without food, for twenty-four hours. 


296 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


I was personally very fortunate here in receiving the 
favor of the commander, which I used to the advantage 
of my comrades as well as I was able. Having 
nothing to read, for the kind minister had not visited 
us since the attempted escape, and being determined 
not to be idle, I began to practise short-hand regularly 
each day. I had learned it before, and now wrote with 
a pencil on any scraps of paper I could find. Wells 
watched me while thus engaged, made a good deal of 
sport of the “ spider tracks,” but came in the next day 
and asked if I would not do a little writing for him. 
I was perfectly willing, provided it was not contrary to 
my allegiance to the United States. He laughed at the 
qualification, and showed me that it was the daily prison 
reports that he wanted made out. I did not see that 
this kind of work would do any harm, and undertook 
it. His office adjoined, the prison room, and he gave 
orders that I was to be allowed to go from one room to 
the other at pleasure, but no farther. In fact, when in 
the office, there was always a special guard standing at 
the door. A hundred schemes of escape flashed through 
my brain, founded upon the additional privileges I now 
had; but I soon found that the guards were instructed 
to watch me all the more closely on account of my 
license. Wells himself laughed, and said that he would 
ask no pledges of me, for it was his business to keep 
us, and ours to get away—if we could ! The qualifica¬ 
tion was well put. The only time the eye of a guard 
was off me day or night was while in the office, and that 
had only one door, by which the guard who brought 
me to the office always stood till ready to take me back 
to the common prison room. Yet I hoped something 
might occur by which I could help my comrades and 
myself. 

One day I had the heartfelt pleasure of saving a 
man’s life. While I was in Wells’ office writing a 
requisition for provisions a person dressed in the uni¬ 
form of a rebel officer was brought in under arrest. 


FROM ATLANTA TO RICHMOND. 297 

He appeared to be very drunk, but remonstrated so 
very hard against being put into the rooms which had 
common prisoners that Wells consented to let him stay 
in his office, to get sober enough to give an account of 
himself. He had five hundred dollars in gold, which 
had been taken from him,—a marvellous possession, 
which Wells asked me to feel the weight of,—but as 
the officer furiously demanded his money, it was given 
back to him. As the charge against him had not yet 
been made known, Wells believed that it was only that 
of drunkenness,—an offence with which he had great 
sympathy. AY hen the man got his money he sank 
down on a lounge in a drunken stupor. Wells had 
some business to transact, and soon went out. Ser¬ 
geant AVhite, the second in command, was with us, but 
he, too, soon took his departure. I was busy writing, 
but, hearing a step, I looked up and saw the stranger 
approaching me. A startling change had taken place. 
No trace of drunkenness was visible, but in place of it 
a terrible expression of anxiety and determination. I 
glanced about the desk to see that the heavy inkstand 
was in easy reach, for I had never seen a more desper¬ 
ate face. He leaned over my chair, and whispered, 
u You are a prisoner ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ One they call engine thieves ?” 

I nodded assent. 

“ I know you,” said he; “I know all about you. I 
was here when your comrades were hung. Brave men 
they were, and the cruel deed will yet be avenged. I 
am not afraid to trust you. The commander here 
don’t know who I am yet, but he will soon learn, and 
then I will have to die , for I am a spy from the Fed¬ 
eral army.” Then he added, with a most appealing 
look, “ Can’t you help me to escape, before it is too 
late?” 

I was amazed, and for a moment doubtful; but a 
few hasty questions, put to test his knowledge of the 


298 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


Federal army and his present character, set my doubts 
at rest. Then I asked, “ What can I do for you ?” 

He answered, “ Can’t you write me a pass and sign 
the commander’s name to it?” 

I shook my head. If a pass written in such circum¬ 
stances had been worth anything, I would probably 
have written one for myself and comrades before that 
time. Wells, who did not trust me at all, had guarded 
that very point in his orders. 

Then my new friend proposed that we together break 
past the guard and run for it. I had no wish for such 
a trial with only one to help. There was my guard at 
the office-door; two more guards in the hall; a bar¬ 
rack-room, with always a dozen or more soldiers in it, 
at the head of the stairway; two guards at the front 
door; and a line of sentinels around the whole building. 

But as I glanced around the room my eye rested on 
a fine overcoat of Wells’ lying on the foot of the office 
bed, and an idea struck me. The prisoner was a short, 
thick man, about the same size and build of Wells. 
Said I, “Take that overcoat,” pointing to it, “and 
throw it around you, and just walk out as indepen¬ 
dently as though you owned the entire establishment. 
It is now nearly dark, and the chances are that you 
will not be halted at all.” 

His countenance lighted at once. “ I’ll do it!” he 
exclaimed, with suppressed eagerness. To fold him¬ 
self in the cloak, nearly crush my hand as he said 
“Thank you! Thank you!” and to open the door 
and walk out, was the work of but a moment. I lis¬ 
tened as his firm step died away along the hall, but 
there was no challenge, no sound that betokened any 
discovery. The soldiers, seeing the familiar coat, must 
have supposed its rightful owner, in it, and allowed it 
to pass unhindered. A moment after Sergeant White 
came in. I feared he would notice the prisoner’s ab¬ 
sence, but he did not. I got him engaged in story¬ 
telling as soon as possible, to postpone any inquiries. 


FROM ATLANTA TO RICHMOND. 


299 


For some five minutes I succeeded very well, when 
Wells entered, cast an uneasy glance about the room, 
and at once exclaimed, “ Sergeant, where is that officer ? 
Did you put him in another room ?” 

The sergeant answered that he had been out, and 
that when he returned he saw nothing of the man. 

It was Wells’ turn to be startled now. He sprang 
over to me and demanded sternly, “ Pittenger, where’s 
that officer ?” 

I was not in the least terrified. In fact, I was greatly 
amused, and for the moment forgetting the purpose 
formed two months before, of always avoiding untruth 
as well as all other evil things, I answered, “ What 
officer ?” 

“ That officer I put in here.” 

“ Oh ! that drunken fellow ?” 

“ Yes ; where is he ?” 

“ The last I saw of him, he picked up his coat and 
said he was going to supper.” 

“ Going to supper, was he ? Ho ! I see ! Sergeant, 
run to the guards and tell them if they let him out 
I’ll have every one of them hung up by the heels.” 

Wells was in a towering passion at once. The alarm 
was sounded, and for a few minutes a terrible commo¬ 
tion prevailed, but nothing was seen of the drunken 
fugitive, whose importance began to be known. Soon 
Wells returned, and demanded in a peremptory tone, 
“ Pittenger, why did not you give the alarm when he 
started ?” _ 

I answered carelessly, “ Oh ! I did not know that my 
business in the South was to guard prisoners.” 

“ Of course not,” he returned; “ but I wish you had 
called me this time.” 

Then after a moment’s silence, he continued, “ You 
said he took his coat. Had he a coat ?” 

“ I suppose so, sir,” I returned, “ or he would not 
have taken it.” 

“ He brought none in. Where did he get it ?” 


300 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


“ Off the foot of that bed.” 

Wells sprang to his feet as quickly as if he had been 
galvanized, kicked the chair on which he had been 
sitting clear across the room, and exclaimed, “ My over¬ 
coat! sure as -! Worth eighty dollars! The 

villain!” 

No intelligence of this spy reached Atlanta while 
we remained there. Wells told me that there was no 
doubt he had gotten entirely away. 

While in this place, I had the opportunity of learn¬ 
ing that there were many lovers of the old Union in 
Atlanta. These visited us, and, although always in the 
presence of the guards, managed to express their kind¬ 
ness in very tangible ways. They told us much of 
their hopes, and of the strength they numbered. A 
certain Dr. Scott was very liberal in his contributions 
to our wants. I had afterwards the pleasure of repay¬ 
ing his kindness, when he had been forced to flee for 
his life, and arrived destitute in the North. The 
money we thus obtained, together with some small 
presents Captain Wells bestowed, when pleased with 
the writing I did for him, gave us the means of living 
almost luxuriously. One dainty I remember with es¬ 
pecial delight. Sweet potatoes were very abundant and 
cheap, and we were allowed to buy as many as our 
means permitted, and roast them in the ashes of the 
wood fire which always glowed on our hearth. The 
great mealy potatoes, raked out .and dusted off and 
eaten hot, constituted a feast good enough for a king! 
I have never since found any sweet potatoes equal to 
those we devoured by the bushel in the old Atlanta 
barracks. This abundant living made some amends 
for the six months of famine that preceded it, and 
gave strength, which was still to be sorely tested before 
the day of deliverance. The memory of those beautiful 
autumnal days, when we could look from our unbarred 
windows upon the sky and the street, when we could 
gather around the fire and under the gas-jet in the even- 



FROM ATLANTA TO RICHMOND. 301 

ing, when hunger no longer pinched, and when health, 
which I had long missed, came back, when some con¬ 
sideration was shown for us even by our guards, and 
when visitors often whispered words or gave signs of 
sympathy for our cause as well as for ourselves, is not 
altogether unpleasant. True, we were still prisoners, 
and our fate as uncertain as ever; but it was easy to 
persuade ourselves that these more pleasant surround¬ 
ings were the promise of still greater good. 

Our religious exercises were here continued as per¬ 
sistently and publicly as in the jail. There were serious 
difficulties to overcome. Some of our own party seemed 
to consider that our release from the dark cells of a 
criminal prison removed the necessity of morning and 
evening prayer. We were not alone, and the soldiers 
who were “ off duty” came to our door when it was 
first reported that “ the Yankees were having prayer¬ 
meeting,” and greatly annoyed us by interruptions and 
by a continual series of comments upon the exercises. 
We endured this for a time, but at last I appealed to 
Wells. He gave us protection from the guard, saying 
that he could not stand praying himself, but if we 
could get any good out of it we were welcome, and 
should not be disturbed. The opposition of the pris¬ 
oners soon gave way also, and our morning and evening 
devotions were seasons of great interest. Even pris¬ 
oners from other rooms came to their open doors that 
they might hear the reading and prayers, and join with 
us in song. Faith, hope, and courage were sustained 
by this recognition of God more than by all other 
agencies combined. 

An effort was here made to get recruits out of the 
prison for the Confederate army. Especially were the 
regular soldiers who were in our company importuned. 
But our band were not asked. I presume they thought 
we could not be trusted. Had the offer now been made 
I would not have accepted, though I would have done 
so without hesitation at any time preceding the death 
26 


302 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


of our friends. Now my religious principles would 
have prevented me from taking the oath of allegiance 
to the Confederacy for the mere purpose of breaking it 
by desertion. But I was glad the temptation was not 
offered to any of our band. 

At length there came to us most startling news,—a 
court-martial was again convened! This was the first 
since the ever-memorable one at Knoxville, and we 
awaited its action with breathless interest. A week of 
sickening suspense passed and no summons came for 
us. Had we been ordered out for trial we had resolved 
to try again to escape, even if the effort only resulted 
in throwing us on the bayonets of the surrounding 
guards. But when news came that the court had ad¬ 
journed, we were as much rejoiced as we had been 
fearful before. It did look as if they intended to per¬ 
secute the feeble remnant of our party no further; and 
passing from the extreme of despondency to that of 
hope, we began once more to indulge the blissful expec¬ 
tations of exchange. But our time had not yet come. 

The weeks rolled on. Few things worthy of note 
occurred. The same monotony which makes prison- 
life so dreary robs it of interest when recorded. We 
would rise in the morning from our hard bed—the 
floor—and wash ourselves by pouring water on each 
other’s hands; then eat our scanty rations when brought. 
Then the effort was to kill time until dinner came, which 
was about four o’clock. It was not abundant, but if 
we had a bundle of roasted sweet potatoes to add from 
our own stores, as often happened, it was not so bad. 
Then we did anything to keep busy until the gas was 
lit. This was kept burning all night, not from any 
favor to us, but only that the guards might see that we 
were not arranging any plan for escaping. 

This was the most cheerful hour of the day, for 
under the soft inspiration of the gaslight conversation 
flowed freely, and all the incidents of our past lives 
were rehearsed. Wells or some other rebel officer 


FROM ATLANTA TO RICHMOND. 


303 


would often enter and talk with us. Arguments and 
discussion on all manner of subjects were introduced, 
and often continued until the midnight bells were 
striking in the town. Then would come our evening 
prayers as we lay down to dream often of home and 
friends and freedom. In the morning the same round 
recommenced. Thus days glided into weeks, and 
weeks passed into months. The golden hues of autumn 
deepened into the sombre colors of early winter, and 
still we were in Atlanta. It almost seemed as if we 
would never be anywhere else. 

At length there came a day of wonderful joy. A 
number of officers, including the provost-marshal, came 
to the barracks, and, inquiring out our room, had us 
all drawn up in line. One of them stepped forth and 
addressed us, saying that he had good news to commu¬ 
nicate, which they had been hoping to receive for some 
time past. He continued, “ You have all been ex¬ 
changed, and all that now remains is to send you out 
of our territory by way of Richmond and City Point.” 

Each of them then came along our line and shook 
hands with us,—the Tennesseeans and regular soldiers 
included, twenty in all,—offering congratulations on the 
happy terminations of our trials, and wishing us much 
joy on our arrival at home. 

Our feelings were indescribable, but strangely min¬ 
gled. There was an overwhelming rush of emotions 
which forbade utterance,—rapture exceedingly great, 
and yet mingled with a deep touch of sorrow that our 
seven dead—murdered—comrades were not with us to 
share the joy of this hour. And the eight also who 
had managed to get out of the clutches of the rebels by 
their own daring,—we were uneasy about them. Only 
a day or two before we had seen in an Atlanta paper, 
obtained, as usual, through the negroes, who were wait¬ 
ers here as well as at the jail, an article clipped from the 
Cincinnati Commercial, telling of the arrival of Porter 
and Wollam at Corinth, as narrated above. Of the 


304 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


others we had received no reliable information, but sup¬ 
posed that some of them at least had perished. The 
provost-marshal told us that three had been shot and 
left in the woods, but we did not fully credit him. 

Notwithstanding all this, the prospect of liberty was 
enough to make our hearts overflow with gratitude to 
God. I was so agitated that when Wells asked me to 
write a requisition for provisions for the trip to Rich- 
mond I could not do it, and had to transfer the work 
to more steady hands. It was nine o’clock in the morn¬ 
ing when we received the glad news, and we were to 
start for home —via Richmond—at seven in the even¬ 
ing. As the time for departure drew near, we again 
lit the gas, and made up a fire, the ruddy blaze of 
which was an emblem of cheerfulness, to take a fare¬ 
well view of the room in which we had spent so many 
not altogether unhappy hours. Often afterwards did 
we remember that bright hour of expectation. 

We were forbidden to take any blankets with us, 
being told that we would soon be where blankets were 
plenty. The pieces of carpet we had managed to se¬ 
cure as blankets were therefore left behind, with the 
exception of two small strips, which were afterwards 
very serviceable. A great surprise met us when we 
were ordered to start. We were not tied ! This was 
the first journey on which we had been sent so care¬ 
lessly, and it afforded the strongest presumption that 
the exchange was a reality. 

All was now in readiness for our departure, and we 
took a last look at rebel Atlanta. The guards fell in 
on each side of us, and we wended our way along the 
dark streets. Wells, even drunker than usual, accom¬ 
panied us to the cars, where he hiccoughed an affection¬ 
ate farewell. I carried away one good article of dress, 
—a nice felt hat. The day before Wells clapped it on 
my head, telling me that I looked better in it than in my 
own shabby cap. I supposed that it was only a freak, 
and that he would reclaim it again, but he did not. It 


FROM ATLANTA TO RICHMOND . 


305 


was much out of suit with my other garments, but I 
wore it until I had a chance to sell it for a great price 
—in Confederate money ! 

Sergeant White commanded our escort. He had 
always been kind to us, and, like his superior, did not 
care which side came out best in the war, so long as he 
was not hurt. The guard was only ten in number, 
while we were twenty and unbound,—a ridiculous fall¬ 
ing off from former precautions. 

We were crowded into box-cars, and soon began to 
suffer severely with cold, for the night air was most 
piercing. It was the 3d of December, and we had 
only summer clothing, which was, in addition, very 
ragged. About three o’clock in the morning we left 
the train at Dalton to wait for another train to Cleve¬ 
land, as we were not to go through Chattanooga. This 
was our last passage over the railroad we had so much 
wished to destroy nine months before. 

The stars were sparkling in light and frosty bril¬ 
liancy when we stopped, and the keen and icy wind 
cut almost through us. We nearly perished before the 
train arrived, and enabled us to continue our journey. 

In the morning we found that our three days’ 
rations, which were to last to Richmond, were barely 
sufficient for breakfast. We ate everything, and trusted 
to buying something with the remaining money our 
Atlanta Union friends had given us. When that failed 
we had our old resource,—the endurance of hunger. 

During this day’s ride on the cars we discussed the 
question as to whether it would not be best to capture 
the guard and escape. The task did not seem hard. 
The guards were very careless, and we cpffid at any 
time have had as many guns as they had. They sat 
on the same seats with us, and were often asleep. Sev¬ 
eral times on the trip we wakened the sentinels by the 
doors as the corporal approached, thus saving them 
from punishment. Once Sergeant White laughingly 
told us that we could escape if we tried, but that he 
u 26 * 


306 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


thought it would be more pleasant for us to ride around 
by way of Richmond rather than to walk over the moun¬ 
tains on our own responsibility. This very security 
lulled our suspicions, and made us shrink from under¬ 
taking an escape which would have involved severe 
hardship in mountain travel, if nothing worse. Be¬ 
sides, we no longer had the same homogeneous party as 
in Atlanta. 

In the afternoon we passed Knoxville, and were 
glad to keep right on. Then came the town of Green¬ 
ville, the home of our former companion, the heroic 
Captain Fry. About nightfall we reached the Vir¬ 
ginia line, and ran steadily on. It was a beautiful 
night; the moon shone over the pale, frosty hills with 
a mellow radiance which made the w T hole landscape en¬ 
chanting. The shifting scenes of mountain, stream, or 
ghostly wood seemed to me like a panorama of human 
life. The morning dawned upon us, still steaming 
slowly through the romantic valleys of Virginia. 

The next day was wet and dreary. Our car leaked, 
our fire went out, and we were thoroughly uncomfort¬ 
able. By evening we had reached the mountain city 
of Lynchburg, and discovered that we had missed the 
railroad connection. This led to a delay of twenty-four 
hours, which we greatly regretted, being very anxious 
to get speedily through to our own lines. We had all 
our plans laid for the happy day of our arrival at 
Washington. 

We were quartered in a large bare room belonging 
to the barracks, where some of the worst criminals of 
the Confederacy were also confined. There was a great 
stove in the centre of the room, but, as no fire was put 
in it, we had to endure another night of dampness and 
cold. The only consolation was found in the thought 
that we would not have many more such nights to 
spend before reaching home. I paced the floor till 
nearly morning, and saw a good many amusing inci¬ 
dents. Many of the rebels were drunk and disposed 


FROM ATLANTA TO RICHMOND. 307 

to mischief. One man diverted himself by walking 
around the room on the forms of those who were try¬ 
ing to sleep. In his round he stepped on Bensinger,— 
one of our party. The infliction was patiently endured 
the first time, but as the sot came again, Bensinger was 
on the lookout, and, springing to his feet, gave him a 
blow that stretched him out on the floor. Some of his 
companions rushed forward to resent the just punish¬ 
ment, but Bensinger’s friends also were prepared, and 
there was a good prospect of a general fray. But, as 
soon as the ruffians understood the position, they re¬ 
tired to their own side of the room. 

In the raw and chill morning I found here some of 
the most virulent enemies of the Union I had yet seen. 
A prisoner loudly declared that no quarter ought to be 
given in the war,—said that he had advocated raising 
the black flag from the first, asserting that “ if it had 
been raised the war would have been over long since.” 

“ No doubt of it,” I replied. “ In that case the 
whole Southern race would have been exterminated 
long before this.” 

That mode of ending the war had not entered his 
mind, and he did not appear pleased with the sugges¬ 
tion. 

A little before dark the next evening we again 
started, and now had good, comfortable cars,—the best 
we had enjoyed on the route. But we only ran a short 
distance to the junction, where we had to leave them 
and wait the arrival of another train. Here was the best 
chance of escape we had yet found. The night was 
pitchy dark, and so cold that the guards built a great fire 
on the border of a strip of woodland, and allowed us to 
help in gathering withered sticks to replenish it. They 
scarcely appeared to notice us, and all that was neces¬ 
sary for escape was to give the word and run for it. 
Nothing held us but the absolute confidence of a speedy 
exchange, and, depending upon that, the golden oppor¬ 
tunity was neglected. Of course, the perils and hard- 


308 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


ships of wandering through the Virginia mountains in 
the depth of winter would have been severe, but the 
start would have been mere child’s play. Oh! how 
bitterly we afterwards regretted that we had not darted 
into the depths of the forest and sought to effect our 
own exchange! 


CHAPTER XX. 

LIBBY AND CASTLE THUNDER. 

In a few hours the train for which we waited ar¬ 
rived, and, passing onward without further noticeable 
events, long before morning we were in Richmond. 
There was the same intense and piercing cold which 
had been the main element in our suffering during this 
journey, but the sky was clear, and the rebel capital 
was distinctly seen in the sparkling moonlight. Every¬ 
thing looked grim and silent through the frosty air, 
and our teeth chattered fast and loud as we walked up 
a street of the sleeping city. 

But the sergeant in command of our party did not 
know what to do with us. We hoped that some ar¬ 
rangements had been made for forwarding us directly 
to City Point, the place of exchange, so that we might 
that very day behold once more the stars and stripes. 
Yet we knew it was more probable that some detention 
would occur. The sergeant left us where we were 
while he started in search of the provost-marshal’s 
office for instructions. We endeavored to shelter our¬ 
selves as best we could from the unbearable cold, which 
really threatened to prove fatal. Two pieces of ragged 
carpet were all the protection we had, in addition to our 
well-worn summer clothing, and we spread these over 
our heads as we huddled together in a solid mass in 
the angle of a brick wall. It was astonishing what a 



LIBBY AND CASTLE THUNDER. 


309 


relief this afforded,—especially to those who were in 
the inside of the pack, where I happened to be. Here 
we shivered till the sergeant returned. He had found 
the headquarters of the prison department and con¬ 
ducted us thither. 

Several streets were threaded in the moonlight, and 
when the office was reached, to add to our discomfort, 
it was destitute of fire. We stood in the empty room, 
looking at the grim portraits of rebel generals for an 
hour or two, until the marshal entered. He did not 
deign to speak to us, but broke open a sealed letter 
Sergeant White handed him and read aloud that ten 
disloyal Tennesseeans, four prisoners of war, and six 
engine thieves were hereby forwarded to Richmond by 
order of General Beauregard. The old name applied 
to us was no small shock. We had hoped that the 
title of “ engine thieves” had been left behind, and that 
from henceforth we would be only called “ prisoners of 
war.” But we still trusted to be soon beyond their 
lines, and it would make no real difference what name 
they exchanged us under. The marshal then gave his 
orders, and we were conducted onward. 

By this time it was daylight, December 7, 1862. 
Richmond looked still more cheerless in the cold morn¬ 
ing than in the moonlight. 

A long march through a number of streets brought 
us to the banks of the James River, where we halted 
in front of a most desolate-looking but very large brick 
building, situated near the water, and surrounded by a 
formidable circle of guards. This we supposed to be 
a prison, and soon learned that we were right. It was 
the famous Libby. 

We entered, were conducted up a flight of steps, and 
reached a vast, open room, where we saw, almost for 
the first time since our capture, the old, familiar United 
States uniform, and were soon in the midst of over a 
hundred United States soldiers. 

Our greeting at first was not very friendly, as we 


310 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


still wore the ragged clothing that had served us all 
summer; but as soon as our true character and history 
were known, a most cordial welcome was extended. 
There was only one small stove in the cold, empty 
room, around which part of the inmates were huddled. 
But with the characteristic courtesy and chivalry of the 
American soldier they cleared a place beside it for us. 
When I got warm I had leisure to look around. 

The prospect was not very cheerful. Above, the 
floor had been taken out, leaving only the rafters be¬ 
tween us and the roof. The window-sashes were all 
removed, and the cold wind whistled in from the river 
far more sharply than was consistent with comfort. 
Only a very scanty amount of fuel was allowed per 
day, and when that was exhausted they had to endure 
the freezing as best they could. The room was too 
large and open to be warmed throughout, and only a 
few could gather around the stove. The food was 
neither better nor worse than in other Southern prisons. 
Probably among all the prisoners, past and present, we 
were the only ones who were glad to be there. We 
regarded it as the sure pledge that our foes had not de¬ 
ceived us in their promise of an exchange, for these 
men, with whom we found ourselves, were actually go¬ 
ing northward on the next truce-boat, which was daily 
expected. What mattered the cold wind or the bare 
floor with such a hope? We felt that we were no 
longer held as criminals, but were now in the common 
prison, with other soldiers, sure that the day of final 
release could not be far off. What wonder if our joy 
was too deep for words, and we could only turn it over 
in our minds, and tremble lest it should prove too de¬ 
lightful to be realized ? The vision of freedom was so 
warm and vivid that all hardships were forgotten. 

It was also very agreeable to talk with our comrades 
who had recently been captured, and get news of the 
progress of the war from a Federal stand-point. All 
the intelligence we had obtained for a long period came 


LIBBY AND CASTLE THUNDER. 


311 


colored by Southern prejudices. In such communion 
with friends who were still confident of success in the 
great conflict the time passed rapidly. 

But in the midst of our conversation, probably two 
hours after our entrance, an officer came to the door 
and called for the men who had just been admitted. 
Every one in the room but ourselves had taken the 
customary oath of parole, not to serve against the Con¬ 
federacy until regularly exchanged; and supposing that 
omission in our case was about to be supplied, we 
gladly responded. The guard led us down to the en¬ 
trance hall and called over our names. The four pris¬ 
oners of war who had come from Atlanta with us were 
sent up-stairs again, while we were turned into an im¬ 
mense, but dark and low, room on the left of the stair¬ 
way and the door locked behind us. 

This was an awful moment. The full meaning of 
this separation burst upon us. We had been taken 
away from those who were to be exchanged and put in 
a room reserved for those regarded as criminals. We 
had been bitterly deceived, and our hopes at once fell 
from the highest heaven to which they had soared. A 
cold sense of misery and despair came over us. No 
wonder we looked at each other with pale, troubled 
countenances in the dim light, and asked questions 
none were prepared to solve. 

But for one moment only were we thus crushed; the 
next we eagerly sought an avenue for hope. Perhaps 
they did not choose to recognize us as soldiers, and 
merely wished to exchange us as civilians,—a matter 
of perfect indifference to us, provided we were ex¬ 
changed at all. We looked around to see what foun¬ 
dation we could build on for this pleasant conjecture. 

Our present apartment contained even more prison¬ 
ers than that up-stairs. They were not Northern sol¬ 
diers, but were from all parts of the South. Some of 
them had been in prison ever since the war broke out, 
while a few had been arrested for supposed anti-slavery 


312 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


sentiments even before that event, and had lived in 
loathsome dungeons ever since. There had been a 
reign of terror in the Southern States preceding the 
war, as well as after the opening of the contest, which 
differed from the similar terror in the French revolu¬ 
tion mainly in being less theatrical, and in striking 
humbler victims. A few Northern soldiers were here 
who had been put in for attempting to escape or for 
other breaches of prison discipline. Every man in the 
room had some kind of “ a charge” against him. These 
facts were not calculated to strengthen hopes of ex¬ 
change, or even weaken fears of further punishment. 

In the mean time breakfast was brought in. It 
consisted of a small quantity of" thin soup and a very 
scanty allowance of bread. To our delight the latter 
was made of wheat flour instead of corn-meal; and all 
the time we remained in Richmond we received good 
bread, though it was very deficient in quantity. 

While we were talking with our new room-mates an 
officer again entered, and inquired for the men who had 
last come in. We responded promptly, for hope was 
again whispering in our hearts that probably there had 
been some mistake, which would now be rectified, and 
we be taken up-stairs again. But no such good for¬ 
tune was in store,—rather the reverse. We were taken 
out of doors, where a guard waited to remove us to an¬ 
other prison. Again our hearts sank. 

We crossed the street and marched westward, halt¬ 
ing at a desolate-looking building, a few hundred yards 
from Libby, which we afterwards learned was “ Cas¬ 
tle Thunder,” the far-famed Bastile of the South. 
Through a guarded door we entered a reception-room 
and waited for some time. In this interval a fierce- 
looking, black-whiskered, bustling individual, who I 
afterwards learned was Chillis, the prison commissary, 
came by and, looking at us, exclaimed,— 

“ Bridge-burners, are they ? They ought to hang, 
every man of them; so ought everybody who does any- 


LIBBY AND CASTLE THUNDER. 


313 


thing against the Confederacy.” The latter proposi¬ 
tion, with the change of one word, precisely suited my 
own feeling then. 

Soon we were ordered up-stairs. Up we went, pass¬ 
ing by a room filled with a howling and yelling mul¬ 
titude, who made such an outrageous racket that I was 
compelled to put my hands to my ears. A score of 
voices brawled with all the power of their lungs, “ Fresh 
fish ! Fresh fish !” The same exclamations greeted 
every new arrival. 

Here we were searched, as usual, to see if we had 
anything contraband, or rather, anything worth taking 
from us. I had obtained a large knife in Atlanta, 
which I managed to slip up my sleeve, and by care¬ 
fully turning my arm when they felt for concealed 
weapons, succeeded in keeping it out of the way. 

The examination over, I supposed they would put 
us in the bedlam we had just passed. They did no 
better, for we were put into a stall beside the large 
room. I use the word “stall” advisedly, for no other 
is so appropriate. It was one of a range partitioned 
off from the room in which were the noisy miscreants, 
and from each other, by boards nailed to the upright 
timbers, with cracks wide enough to let the wind circu¬ 
late freely everywhere. Most of the windows of the 
large room were out, which greatly increased the cold. 
Our stall was only eight or nine feet wide, and perhaps 
sixteen in length. It was perfectly bare of furniture, 
—not having even a bench or any means of making a 
fire. It was in the third story, and had one redeeming 
quality,—it commanded a view of the street, but there 
was a guard below, who had orders to shoot at any 
head that might be protruded from the window. 

In this cheerless place our party of six, with nine 
Tennesseeans,—fifteen in all,—were confined during the 
months of December and January. The first day our 
spirits sank lower than ever before. All our bright 
hopes were dashed to the ground, and there seemed 
o 27 


316 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


One great privilege we had here,—a delightful oasis 
in the dead sameness that settled over our days. This 
was found in reading the daily newspapers. We were 
not now forbidden their perusal, and some one in the 
large room had always money enough to buy a paper 
and charity enough to lend it. As soon as we received 
it, all the party would gather around while it was read 
aloud. Each item of importance was eagerly discussed. 
The news was often exciting, as the Union commander, 
Burnside, had just made an advance, and we breathed 
hearty prayers that he would be successful in reaching 
Richmond. Probably our enemies would, in that case, 
try to remove us farther South; but we had firmly 
resolved to escape in such a contingency or die in the 
attempt. We would not allow ourselves again to be 
moved from one prison to another without risking 
everything for freedom. 

But soon came the sad news of Burnside’s bloody 
repulse at Fredericksburg,—sad to us, but causing the 
greatest rejoicing among our enemies, who felt that 
they had escaped a great danger. If Union defeats 
diffused gloom throughout the whole of the loyal States, 
there was yet no place where they were so regretfully 
and bitterly felt as in Southern prisons. 

Here I sold the hat I had obtained from Commander 
Wells in Atlanta, and made an effort to invest the 
money in books, for which I was more hungry than for 
bread. But the volumes I wanted were not to be found 
in Richmond. Chillis, the cross commissary who wished 
us hung on our first arrival, but who was, nevertheless, 
the kindest official in the prison, made the effort to ob¬ 
tain them; but when he failed, we took instead some 
very small cakes, at ten cents each. These were a great 
addition to our rations for a day or two. 

The desire to escape once more became intense. Be¬ 
ing in the third story, we could only get out by passing 
at each door successive relays of guards, all of whom 
had reserves ready to co-operate with them in case of 


LIBBY AND CASTLE THUNDER. 


317 


alarm. Our room was nearest the jailer’s office, and on 
the other side there ran a row of rooms filled with all 
kinds of prisoners,—some held as spies and others as 
murderers. 

The nearest of these rooms to our own was occupied 
by Federal soldiers accused of various offences. Cap¬ 
tain Webster was one of these. He had on one occa¬ 
sion been sent to capture a notorious guerrilla captain 
named Simpson, who was then hiding within the Union 
lines. When he was found, Webster summoned him 
to surrender. Instead of doing so he fired his pistol 
and started to run, but Webster also fired and mortally 
wounded him. 

When Webster was afterwards captured by the Con¬ 
federates, he was charged with the murder of Simpson, 
and confined in the room next our own. He was finally 
hanged, but in the official report the offence was changed, 
in a manner not uncommon with Confederate authori¬ 
ties, for the more plausible one of violating his parole. 

At this time Webster was very anxious for an at¬ 
tempt at escape. A plan was soon arranged, and the 
evening before Christmas selected as the time. The 
citizen prisoners in the room below were more favor¬ 
ably situated than ourselves for beginning the enter¬ 
prise. We had opened secret communications with 
them, and the ramifications of the plot reached every 
room in the prison. The signal agreed upon was the 
cry of “fire!” When this alarm—always startling, 
but doubly so in a crowded prison—was given, we were 
to rush upon the guards and overpower them. They 
only numbered about thirty, while we had over a hun-r 
dred and fifty men in the plot. After capturing the 
guard, we still had the very serious task of getting out 
of the guarded and fortified city. It is not probable 
that a very great number could have succeeded in doing 
this. 

That Christmas-eve was not much like Christmas at 
home. We made everything ready, and anxiously 
27* 


318 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


waited for the thrilling alarm of a fire!” which we 
would have echoed at the top of our voices, and then 
burst off* the door of our stall and flung ourselves on 
the guard. I had no doubt that we could thus break 
open the strongest prison in the Confederacy; but as to 
any large number escaping to the Union lines I was 
less confident. The hours rolled on and midnight 
came,—the hour fixed for the attack. But we waited 
in vain. No signal was given. The inmates in the 
room below had failed in courage at the critical mo¬ 
ment and resolved to postpone the attempt. 

Not yet discouraged, we determined to make another 
trial the very next night. Captain Webster was ap¬ 
pointed leader, as we felt sure that he would not falter. 
The locks were taken off* all the side rooms except 
ours, which was so near the station of the guard that 
it could not be removed without great danger of dis¬ 
covery. We cared but little for this. A long board 
which supported our water-bucket afforded a convenient 
battering-ram, with which we felt sure of being able 
to deal with our door. 

Some of the inmates did not wish to run the fearful 
hazard, but were very kind to those of us who did, 
supplying us with serviceable shoes and taking our 
worn-out ones in return. 

Again we waited for the signal. Four of us held 
the long board, and felt sure that one blow would dash 
our door into the middle of the room. 

The other small rooms were soon vacated, the move¬ 
ment being concealed from the observation of the guards 
by the inmates of the large room, into which all the 
others entered, crowding up around the doors. 

For an instant all was silent. We lifted our hearts 
in mental prayer to God that he would be with us and 
preserve us through the coming strife, and if consistent 
with his high will, permit us to regain our liberty. 

What can cause the delay? Minute after minute 
passes, and the dead silence is broken only by the 


LIBBY AND CASTLE THUNDER. 319 

throbbing of our own hearts. We have counted the 
cost, and are ready for the strife which shall lead us to 
grapple, with naked arms, the shining bayonets of the 
guards. Some will certainly fall, but we trust that 
others will regain the unutterable blessing of liberty. 

But now we. see our friends weeping back to their 
rooms! We grind our teeth with rage and chagrin, 1 
but soon hear the explanation, which makes us believe 
that the Lord is indeed watching over us. 

Just as the leader was ready to give the signal, a 
friend pressed to his side and informed him that we 
were betrayed, and that the enemy were on the watch 
for us. From a window in the far corner of the room 
a force of at least eighty men could be seen drawn up 
before the prison-door. The story continued that or¬ 
ders had been given to shoot down every one who at¬ 
tempted to escape, while another detachment was to 
close in behind and make an indiscriminate massacre. 
Had we carried out our plan, the guard would have 
yielded before our rush until we had been fully 
drawn into the trap, when they hoped to make such a 
slaughter as would be a perpetual warning to prison- 
breakers. 

When I first heard this account I thought it the in¬ 
vention of some weak-nerved individual who wished 
to avoid the danger of our scheme. But it was per¬ 
fectly true. The next day the newspapers of Rich¬ 
mond contained a full expose of the whole affair, and 
Captain Alexander, the tyrant who commanded the 
prison, threatened to have every one engaged in it tied 
up and whipped. But he finally changed his mind. 
A nominal prisoner, who was really a spy in the ser¬ 
vice of the authorities, had contrived to get into the 
plot, and had reported it to his employers. This was 
the last attempt at prison-breaking in which I was con¬ 
cerned. 

In Richmond there was a pretence of allowing pris¬ 
oners to correspond with their friends in the North,— 


320 CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 

of course, subject to the inspection of the prison officials. 
From Libby Prison some letters did go safely. We 
also tried writing, making our expressions very guarded, 
but, so far as I have ever heard, none of our corre¬ 
spondence was forwarded beyond the lines. I was 
providentially afforded a better opportunity. Some of 
the prisoners captured at the battle of Murfreesborough 
were brought to Richmond for exchange, and were 
kept overnight in a room in the basement of Castle 
Thunder. When in the court as usual in the morn¬ 
ing, I asked a good-natured Irishman of their number 
if he would carry a letter and mail it for me after get¬ 
ting to loyal territory. He cheerfully consented, and 
I pencilled a note to my father on the fly-leaf of a 
book and, watching an opportunity when unobserved, 
gave it to him. He concealed it until out of rebel 
power, and duly committed it to the mail. The sensa¬ 
tion may be imagined which it produced among my 
own friends and those of other members of the party, 
as nothing had been heard from us since the October 
escape, and we had long been given over as dead. 
Though the note was very hastily written, I copy it 
here without change, as showing the feeling experienced 
at that time. Something of the hopefulness and light¬ 
ness of the tone resulted from the wish to cheer those 
addressed. 


“Richmond, Va., January 6, 1863. 

“ Dear Father,—I take this opportunity of writing by a pa¬ 
roled prisoner to let you know that I am well and doing as well 
as could be expected. I have seen some rather hard times, but 
the worst is past. Our lives are now safe, but we will be kept 
during the war, unless something lucky turns up for us. There 
are six of our original railroad party here yet. Seven were exe¬ 
cuted in June, and eight escaped in October. 

“ I stand the imprisonment pretty well. The worst of it is to 
hear of our men [this refers to the Union army] getting whipped 
so often. I hear all the news here : read three or four papers a 
day. I even know that Bingham was beat in the last election, 
for which I am very sorry. 

“ The price of everything here is awful. It costs thirty cents 
to send a letter. This will account for my not writing to all my 


LIBBY AND CASTLE THUNDER. 321 

friends ! Give my sincere love to them, and tell them to write 
to me. 

“ You may write hy leaving the letter unsealed, putting in 
nothing that will offend the Secesh, and directing to Castle 
Thunder, Ya. I want to know the private news,—how many 
of my friends have fallen. Also tell me who has been drafted 
in our neighborhood, who married, and who like to be. Also, 
if you have a gold dollar at hand, slip it into the letter,—not 
more, as it might tempt the Secesh to hook it. I have tried to 
send word through to you several times, hut there is now a bet¬ 
ter chance of communicating since we came from Atlanta to 
Richmond. 

“ No doubt you would all like to see me again, hut let us have 
patience. Many a better ihan than I am has suffered more, and 
many parents are mourning for their children without the hope 
of seeing them again. So keep your courage up, and do not be 
uneasy about me. Write as soon as you can, and tell all my 
friends to do the same. 

“ Ever yours, 

“William Pittenger. 

“ To Thomas Pittenger, 

“New Somerset, Jefferson Co., Ohio.” 

The belief expressed in the above letter of imprison¬ 
ment during the war was thought by the writer to be 
most probable. No word was spoken either of ex¬ 
change or of court-martial. The prices referred to 
were in Confederate money, which was now greatly 
depreciated. The little we had brought from Atlanta 
rapidly melted away, procuring us very little addition 
to our meagre fare. We still hoped for great Union 
victories and a speedy termination of the war. But at 
the opening of the year 1863 the prospect was dark 
indeed. 

About the 1st of February the range of side rooms 
in which we were confined was wanted for hospital 
purposes. The prison hospital had been located in 
the garret above, but disease increased to such an ex¬ 
tent that its accommodations were no longer sufficient. 
These chill and comfortless rooms had but little adap¬ 
tation to their new purpose, and hastened the release 
of many a poor unfortunate by the mercy of death. Dis¬ 
ease was now making fearful havoc. The hardships 

V 


322 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


of prison-life and the starvation diet prepared the way 
for every contagion. Smallpox broke out, and pre¬ 
vailed to such an extent that the whole town was 
alarmed. The prisoners were vaccinated by the whole¬ 
sale, but this necessary precaution caused great addi¬ 
tional suffering. Men died in every room, and the 
visiting physician came each morning to remove to the 
hospitals those who showed marks of the dreaded pes¬ 
tilence. It would scarcely be believed that some pris¬ 
oners actually counterfeited smallpox in order to be 
sent to the smallpox hospital, where they would have 
a better opportunity for escape. But escaping, had be¬ 
come a regular mania, and all possible means were 
employed to effect it. 

No one of our party of six took the pestilence, 
though two suffered very severely from the vaccine 
virus. But the prevalence of disease did us a good 
service in securing our removal from the narrow stall 
to the comparative freedom of the room outside. 

This was a great change, and did seem like freedom 
by contrast. From this time the isolation of our prison- 
life was at an end. I have spoken of the “ room,” but 
the term is scarcely accurate. The partitions had been 
taken out or never inserted in this upper floor, and the 
prisoners could go from one end of the building to the 
other, but with guards stationed at every door and 
watching every window outside. In a far corner there 
was a stove,—the first fire we had felt since leaving 
Libby two months before. It did not suffice to warm 
half the people around it, and these were very quarrel¬ 
some, but it was a great luxury to be occasionally warm. 

The amusements of the hundreds who had been 
gathered into this receptacle of humanity were very 
st7'iking, if not elegant. When a dense crowd had 
gathered around the stove, some person outside— 
usually one of a large group of very mischievous Irish¬ 
men—would cry, “Char-rge, me boys!” and a solid 
column of perhaps fifty men would rush against the 


LIBBY AND CASTLE THUNDER. 323 

group around the stove, knocking men in all directions, 
endangering limbs, and raising a perfect storm of pro¬ 
fanity. Fights were very frequent, and it only needed 
the addition of intoxicating liquor to make the place a 
perfect pandemonium. As it was, the interference of 
the guard was often required to preserve order. Our 
party, however, always stood together, and were thus 
able to protect themselves. 

The evenings were a compensation for the turmoil 
and quarrelling of the day. After all who pos¬ 
sessed blankets had rolled themselves up and laid 
down to rest on the floor, some of the worst rowdies, 
who had been annoying and persecuting their fellow- 
prisoners all day, would gather around the stove and 
appear in a new character,—that of story-tellers. Old 
Irish legends, and some of the finest fairy-tales to 
which I have ever listened, were brought forth, and 
the greater part of the night was often passed in such 
discourse. But the approach of day put an end to the 
romantic disposition of these rude bards and left them 
ill ruffians as before. 

We soon wearied of this perpetual ferment and ex¬ 
citement, and learning that there was one room in the 
prison occupied principally by Union men, petitioned 
to be placed with them. To our surprise this request 
was granted, and we were taken down to the ground 
floor, and placed in a large, dingy room on the level 
of the street. The windows were not only secured by 
crossing bars, but additionally darkened by fine woven 
wire. The refuse tobacco-stems—the building was an 
old tobacco manufactory—had been thrown into this 
room, and were now gathered into a great heap in one 
corner, occupying more than a fourth part of the entire 
apartment. This filthy stuff—for such it was, having 
been trodden underfoot for years—was not without its 
uses for the tobacco-lovers of the party. 

But this dungeon had ample compensations for its 
darkness and dinginess. It contained a stove, and was 


324 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


kept quite warm. Thus the terrible suffering from 
cold was now ended. There was also good society 
here,—nearly a hundred Union men from different 
parts of the South,—all intensely patriotic, and many 
of them possessing great intelligence. The rude, wild 
element which dominated in the third floor w r as in 


complete subordination on the first. 

It would be easy to fill a volume with stories told 
us by the loyal citizens confined in this room. One 
or two may serve as specimens. I became very in¬ 
timate with a Scotchman named Miller, from Texas. 
He told me of the beginning of the reign of terror, 
which prepared the way for secession. The rumor, 
in Miller’s neighborhood, was first spread of an in¬ 
tended slave insurrection. Weapons, and in some cases 
poison, were secreted, to be afterwards found at the 
right time. Some slaves were next whipped until, 
under the torture, they would confess to the intended 
insurrection, and implicate the most prominent oppo¬ 
nents of secession. This was enough to drive the 
populace to madness. The fear of servile insurrections 
has always aroused the worst passions of slaveholding 
countries. Slaves and white Unionists were now hung 
up to the same trees, and the work went on until all 
who opposed the withdrawal of the State from the old 
Union were treated as criminals. It is not strange that 
slavery thus furnished the means as well as the occasion 
of rebellion. 

Miller, being an outspoken opponent of secession, was 
seized, and sent eastward, accused of treason against the 
Confederacy. Twice he made his escape, and when re¬ 
captured told, each time, a different story. At Rich¬ 
mond, when brought up for examination, he merely 
said, “ I told you all about my case before.”' The ex- 
aming officer, who was very busy and a little in liquor, 
took him at his word and ordered him back to prison. 
At length he was included with many r others in a special 


LIBBY AND CASTLE THUNDER. 325 

A few Union soldiers, besides ourselves, were in this 
room. There was a young and adventurous scout from 
the Potomac army, Charlie Marsh by name, who had 
been sent a short distance inside the rebel lines to 
burn an important bridge. While on his way, with a 
gray coat—the rebel color—thrown over his own uni¬ 
form, he managed to get some important information 
regarding the enemy, which he committed to writing. 
In this perilous position he was captured, and the 
papers, which he was not able to destroy, determined 
his character as a spy. A drum-head court-martial 
convicted him, and he was sent with a strong guard to 
Richmond for execution. While on the way the ser¬ 
geant in charge got an opportunity to drink, and soon 
became very careless. Marsh could not escape; but, 
watching his chance, slipped from the sergeant’s pocket 
the package containing the report of the trial and sen¬ 
tence, and dropped them, unobserved, into a ditch by 
the wayside. 

When he arrived in Richmond, the sergeant could 
give the prison authorities no information further than 
that his prisoner was a Yankee he had been told to 
bring to them. The drunkard was reprimanded, and 
the authorities sent back to the army for the missing 
information. Pending its arrival, Marsh was put into 
our room, instead of being confined separately and se¬ 
curely, as would have been the case if his sentence had 
been known. When the evidence against him arrived, 
the commanding officer entered the room with a guard 
and called his name. This was Charlie’s last chance 
for life, and shrewdly was it improved! A. man had 
died in the prison the night before, and the body had 
not yet been removed. Charlie promptly responded, 
“Oh, that fellow is dead?” pointing to the corpse. 

“Died, has he? the rascal! We’d ’a hung him this 
week and saved him the trouble if he had only held 
on,” growled the officer. 

No prisoner felt called upon to expose the deception, 
28 


326 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


and the officer departed and reported accordingly. 
Marsh continued to answer whenever the dead man’s 
name was called, and was finally exchanged in his 
place. I once met him since the close of the war. He 
was then in congenial employment as a government 
detective. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

SICKNESS AND LIBERTY. 

In February the attempt was made to persuade the 
Union men of our prison room to enlist in the rebel 
army. Over twenty recruits were obtained. They 
were loyal in heart to the old government, but so worn 
down and dispirited by suffering that they could resist 
no longer. The refusal of the remainder to take the 
same step seemed to exasperate the prison officials, and 
new hardships were devised for us. Captain Alexan¬ 
der, the tyrant who had charge of the prison, issued an 
order for taking out a working-party to perform menial 
service each day. At first volunteers were called for, 
and the desire to be in the open air was so great that 
they were readily obtained, notwithstanding the condi¬ 
tions of the work were far from being pleasant. As 
soon as no more volunteers offered, a list was prepared, 
and a certain number of the names called daily for 
service. This was putting the matter in another light. 
One of the first called was a frank, brave Tennesseean 
named McCoy. He answered boldly, “ I’m not going.” 

“ What’s the matter now ?” demanded the officer who 
was calling the list. 

“ I didn’t come here to work, and if you can’t board 
me without, you may send me home,” replied the fear¬ 
less man. 

“Well! well! You’ll be attended to,” growled 



SICKNESS AND LIBERTY. 


327 


the officer, and proceeded with the roll. Four others 
on the list likewise refused. In a short time a guard 
entered the room and seized them. We feared that one 
of the terrible floggings, which were only too common 
in the case of prison insubordination, was going to take 
place. But another mode of punishment was devised. 
The four were taken before Captain Alexander, who 
ordered them to “ the cell.” This was a windowless 
place, beside the open court, only about four feet wide 
by six or seven in length. It had no floor but the 
damp earth, and was dark at mid-day. They were 
informed that they should remain here until they con¬ 
sented to work. 

We found another alternative for them. There was 
a piece of file and a scrap of stove-pipe in our room, 
which we secreted, and, buying a piece of candle from 
the commissary, found an opportunity, when taken to 
wash in the prison-court, of slipping the articles into 
the cell. Thus provided, our friends began to dig their 
way out under the wall. All day and night they 
worked, but did not get through. We furnished an¬ 
other candle and they worked on. Towards morning 
of the second night they broke upward through the 
crust of the ground outside of the wall. The foremost 
wormed his way out and glided off. He was never 
heard of afterwards, and, I presume, reached the Union 
army. The next man was just under the wall, when 
the barking of a dog that happened to be prowling 
around drew the attention of the guard that way, and 
the hole was closed. This incident prevented the con¬ 
finement of any others in the cell. 

Yet the attempt to secure workers from the prison 
was not given up. I happened to be on the next list 
prepared. To work with a guard carrying a musket 
to enforce obedience did not seem to me a part of my 
business as a United States soldier. Carefully counting 
the cost, I determined to go any length in resistance. . 

On our refusal, we were ordered into the jail-yard. 


328 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


It was a very cold, windy day in February, with 
abundant rain. We were nearly naked, having only 
the remnant of the rags that had already outserved 
their time. The bottoms were out of my shoes, and 
the water stood in the yard several inches deep. The 
yard itself was only a vacant corner in the building 
inclosed by high brick walls, on the top of which 
guards walked. The cold, wet wind swept down with 
biting sharpness, and almost robbed us of sensation. 
We paced the narrow bounds, through the mud and 
water, until too weary to walk any more, and then re¬ 
signed ourselves to our misery. If this exposure had 
come earlier, when we were accustomed to the endur¬ 
ance of cold, it might have been less serious. But for 
several weeks we had been in a close, warm room, and 
the contrast was almost unbearable. 

Here we remained from early in the morning until 
nearly dark in the evening. They told us we would 
have to stay there till we agreed to work or froze to 
death ! The first we had resolved never to do. The 
latter seemed only too probable. I do not think any 
of us could have survived the night. We resolved as 
soon as it was fairly dark to scale the wall and seek 
our own deliverance, feeling that it could not be worse 
to die by the bullet than by exposure. 

But we had help from an unexpected source. The 
old commissary, Chillis, had come out of his room, 
which was near by, several times during the day to 
observe us, and each time went away muttering and 
grumbling. We thought he enjoyed our suffering, but 
were greatly mistaken. In the evening he went to 
Captain Alexander and remonstrated with him in the 
strongest terms. Said he,— 

“ If you want to kill the men, do it at once ! The 
rascals deserve it. Hanging is the best way. But 
don’t leave them out there to die by inches, for it will 
disgrace us all over the world.” 

Ilis remonstrance was heeded, and we were remanded 


SICKNESS AND LIBERTY. 


329 


back to our room, which, with its warm fire, never 
seemed more agreeable. We soon sank into a pleasant 
stupor, from which all awoke very ill. One poor fel¬ 
low died within a few hours, and several more after a 
short interval. I was the only one of our railroad 
party who had been thus exposed. That day of freez¬ 
ing does not seem a worse hardship than many endured 
previously, but coming when already enfeebled, it was 
far more injurious. Pneumonia followed, and when I 
grew better a distressing cough continued, which has 
never left me. Ever since I have been a confirmed 
invalid. But the attempt to make us work was relin¬ 
quished. 

One day we were summoned into line, and the names 
of our railroad party, with a few others, called over. 
One of the prisoners who had not been called, asked 
the reason of the omission. The officer replied,— 

“ We can’t tell, for this list came from Yankee- 
land.” 

This speech set wild conjectures afloat. Why should 
a list be sent from the North ? Was it for the purpose 
of exchange? Had the Federal government made 
some arrangement at last which applied especially to 
us, and not to the mass of Union men in the prison ? 
We could not tell, but it was pleasant to believe that 
we were not utterly forgotten. 

It was soon discovered that a special exchange of 
political prisoners—prisoners whose offences were of a 
civil and not a military character—was in contempla¬ 
tion. Soldiers were being exchanged frequently from 
the Libby on the other side of the way, but it had 
seemed as if we were altogether forsaken. Now the 
rumor was current that a large number on each side 
who were held for various offences were to be massed 
into one general exchange, and the including of our* 
names in a list sent from the loved loyal States was 
sufficient fuel to rekindle the almost extinct fire of 
hope. 


28 * 


330 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


But the delay was long, and we grew very weary of 
waiting. Truce-boat after truce-boat went off, and 
week after week slid away, leaving us still in our dark 
and irksome prison. So completely did this damp our 
hopes that if any one referred to exchange he was 
laughed into silence. 

One day, however, we received a most welcome token 
of governmental remembrance. An officer bustled 
into the prison and asked for the name of every one 
there who claimed United States protection. There 
was a general rush towards him, for, although we did 
not know how our government could protect us while 
in rebel hands, we were resolved not to lose anything 
for want of claiming it. It then transpired that the 
authorities at Washington, in order to relieve the suf¬ 
ferings of the Richmond prisoners, had offered to fur¬ 
nish a supply of clothing for them. The offer was 
accepted, and some of the clothing reached its destina¬ 
tion,—not nearly all, as I judge from comparing the 
accounts given on the opposite sides of the line. My 
own portion was a pair of boots, which were sorely 
needed. We did not obtain a complete supply, but 
what we did get was very grateful, as a token that we 
were not forgotten, but that a great nation still cared 
for us. 

I have said but little for some time past of our re¬ 
ligious exercises. It must not be inferred that we had 
lost the zeal enkindled during the dark hours in At¬ 
lanta. Up-stairs we continued to pray, sing, and re¬ 
peat Bible lessons morning and evening. When we 
first came into the room below, where we were strangers, 
and where the whole current of opinion seemed utterly 
irreligious, I did feel as if it would be impossible for 
us in the common room to worship publicly as before. 
At the arrival of the usual hour I was sorely per¬ 
plexed, and almost persuaded to wait a day or two for 
better acquaintance with our new room-mates. But 
the matter was settled providentially for us. Mr. 


SICKNESS AND LIBERTY. 


331 


Pierce, who had accompanied us all the way from 
Knoxville, and who was very profane in speech, had 
never shown any interest in our prayers beyond re¬ 
maining silent when we were thus employed. But now 
he stepped on a box, and calling and stamping until he 
had the attention of everybody in the room, he said,— 

“ I have a matter to propose for our general interest. 
We have some preachers with us who are accustomed 
to sing and pray and read the Bible every morning and 
evening. Now, I am wicked enough myself, but I 
like to 1 ave something good going on; so I propose 
that we invite them to go ahead as they have done in 
other prisons. All that favor the motion say 1 aye P ” 

The response was most hearty. In a prison a propo¬ 
sition for anything which will break the monotony for 
even a little time is sure of favor. No one voted in 
the negative, and Pierce, turning to me, said, “ Go 
ahead.” 

There were no preachers in our party, but, under 
such circumstances, we gladly embraced the providen¬ 
tial opportunity. The majority of the prisoners gath¬ 
ered around in respectful silence, and seemed greatly 
pleased to hear, in that gloomy place, the voice of 
prayer and sacred song. Even the guards drew near 
the open door, and stood in reverent attention. But a 
small company of the more reckless of the prisoners 
regarded the whole matter in the light of a burlesque. 
One I especially noticed, who seemed to be their leader. 
He was quite young, had a confident bearing, and ut¬ 
tered great oaths on the smallest occasion. He watched 
us without making any disturbance while we read and 
sang, but, when we knelt for prayer, he knelt too, and 
became very noisy in his mock devotions, responding 
“ amen” with more than Methodistic fervor and at the 
most inopportune places. This we endured patiently 
for that evening, but I resolved to win him over, feel¬ 
ing sure that we would thus do good and secure our¬ 
selves from interruption. On the next day I managed 


332 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


to get into'conversation with him, told him the story 
of our adventures, which always commanded attention, 
and asked the reason of his imprisonment. He gave 
the story, and I afterwards asked after his friends in 
his far-ofF Canadian home. He told me that he had 
no near relatives except a sister, and his blue eyes filled 
with tears as he spoke of his longing to see her once 
more. There were no interruptions to our evening 
service; and I learned that my friend had taken occa¬ 
sion to say that those Ohioans were good fellows, and 
that anybody who disturbed them would have to reckon 
with him. A number of other religious persons made 
themselves known when the way was thus open, though 
each one had supposed himself alone before. W e formed 
quite a church when all assembled, though there was a 
great mixture of creeds, a Roman Catholic being one 
of the most devoted of the number. 

A day now* approached that had been longed for 
ever since we first tasted the bitter cup of captivity,—a 
day which yet shines golden and glorious in the light 
of memory,—a day which I never recall without a 
mental ejaculation ofi thanksgiving to Almighty God. 
To have assured its coming I would at any time during 
the preceding eleven months have unshrinkingly sacri¬ 
ficed my right hand ! 

On the evening of the 17th of March, 1863, when 
we were sitting around the stove, discussing quietly 
but not indifferently the siege of Vicksburg, an officer 
stepped within the door and shouted the strange order, 
“ All who want to go to the United States come to the 
office !” 

No more plans were laid for capturing Vicksburg 
that night! We thought we were in the United States 
all the while, but had no objection to be still more so, 
and at once fell into line, and walked out, between two 
files of soldiers, to the office. It seemed like a dream. 
For a moment a delicious hope thrilled through my 
veins,—a vision of happiness and home, dazzling as a 


SICKNESS AND LIBERTY. 


333 


flash of summer lightning,—but it instantly faded 
before the remembrance of the manner in which we 
had been deceived in Atlanta. I did not doubt that an 
exchange had been arranged for some of the inmates 
of our room, but feared that the good fortune would 
not reach so far as our proscribed band. The oath of 
parole, binding each man not to serve against the Con¬ 
federacy until regularly exchanged, was being signed 
as fast as the names could be written and the oath ad¬ 
ministered. To end the suspense, I pressed forward, 
gave my name, and held my breath, while fully ex¬ 
pecting to hear “ The engine thieves can’t go,”—but no 
objection was made. I wrote my name, and watched 
each of my five comrades do the same, with growing 
hope, as still no objection was made. Then came the 
remembrance that our names were the first on the list, 
read a few days before, which, as we had been told, 
came from “ Yankee-land,”—and I suspected, what I 
afterwards learned to be the fact,—that our government, 
in arranging this exchange, had specially stipulated that 
we should be included. Although a sickening fear 
would still intrude itself now and then, there was really 
no reason to doubt that all the preliminaries of our 
exchange were actually arranged. 

When all the prisoners had signed the papers we 
were ordered to return to our room, and be ready to 
start for the North at four o’clock next morning. We 
could have been ready in four seconds! but we really 
needed the quiet night hours to realize the full magni¬ 
tude of our deliverance. The wild excitement of that 
evening can never be fully described. The majority 
of paroled men acted as if bereft of reason. The joy¬ 
ousness of some found vent in vociferous shouts,—in 
dancing and bounding over the floor,—in embracing 
each other, and in pledging kind remembrances. Some 
seemed stupefied by their good fortune, others sat down 
and wept in silence, and still others laughed for minutes 
together. But in the room there were a few not per- 


334 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


mitted to go, and my heart bled for them. I remem¬ 
bered the hour when we had been left by our comrades 
on first arriving in Richmond, and now these friends 
sat cheerless and alone, seeming more wretched than 
ever amid the general joy. 

But there was one expression of joy which it would 
have been the basest ingratitude for us to omit. It was 
near midnight before we became calm enough to offer 
up our usual evening devotions. But when all were 
wearied out by the very excess of joy, when the quiet¬ 
ness which ever follows overwhelming emotion had set¬ 
tled upon us, we knelt in prayer,—a prayer of deep, 
strong, fervent thankfulness. We implored that we 
might not be deceived in our vivid hopes aud dashed 
back from our anticipated paradise. Yet, if such should 
be God’s mysterious will, and we should see these hopes 
fade, as others had faded before them, we asked for 
strength to bear the trial. Then, with solemn trust, 
we tried to commit the whole matter to the wisdom and 
the mercy of God, and lay down to sleep, if we could, 
and to await the event. 

Few eyes closed during the entire night. Fancy was 
too busy peopling her fairy landscapes,—picturing the 
groups that awaited us, beyond that boundary which 
for nearly a year seemed to us as impassable as the 
river of death. But even as we muse we find that 
hope is not the only painter at work. What unbidden 
fears spring up to darken the prospect and stain the 
brightness of our joy! How many of those dear friends 
we were hoping to meet may now be no more! For a 
year not a whisper from them has reached us,—no let¬ 
ter or message from any friend, and we tremble as we 
think of the ravages of time and of battle. These and 
a hundred other thoughts whirled through our brains 
during that ever-memorable night. It seemed but a 
few moments after lying down until we heard the voice 
of an officer, who stood by the open door, and gave the 
thrilling order to —-prepare for our journey ! 


SICKNESS AND LIBERTY. 


335 


Hurriedly we thronged to our feet. It was yet long 
before daylight, but the guard were in readiness, and 
they did not need to wait long for us. The visions of 
the night were swept away, but in their stead was the 
blessed reality. It was true! Freedom once more! 
Our terrible captivity ended ! Oh joy ! joy !—wild 
and delirious joy ! 

There was a hurrying around in the darkness, illu¬ 
mined by the flashing of torch-lights,—a discordant 
calling of names,—a careful inspection of each man to 
see that none went except those who had been chosen; 
then, forming two lines in the court-yard, with bound¬ 
ing hearts we passed outward through the dreaded 
portals’ of Castle Thunder,—the same portals we had 
passed inward more than three months before!—passed 
out into the cool but free night air, and stood in the dark 
and silent street. 

Beside us rose the tall, square, and ugly outline of 
the prison we had left. Not far away on the left was 
the shadowy form of the twin prison,—the Libby,—fit 
emblems, in their frowning blackness, of that system 
of oppression which had shed rivers of blood in a vain 
war, and was soon to pass away forever. But we could 
not pause to moralize even upon such a theme. As 
soon as all were out of the gate, and the column of 
prisoners duly formed, with guards on either hand, we 
marched onward through the muddy streets for many 
squares. There were with us a number of sick, who 
were too weak to walk unassisted, and yet unwilling 
to be left behind. As no conveyances were provided 
for them, we placed each of them between two friends, 
on whose shoulders they leaned, and they were thus 
able to totter the weary distance. A few had to be 
carried altogether by those who were themselves far 
from strong, but hope, and the exultation of liberty, 
made everything possible. After we were seated in 
the cars, which were waiting at the depot, and had 
begun to glance around with happy faces in the dim 


336 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


morning light, some Richmond papers were procured. 
Looking over them we found the very interesting news 
that “ a large number of engine thieves , bridge-burners, 
murderers, robbers, and traitors will leave this morning 
for the United States. The Confederacy may well 
congratulate itself on this good riddance.” The item 
was handed from one to another, and we recognized 
the names applied with quiet joy. Our congratula¬ 
tions were not less fervid than theirs, but we could 
not help thinking that the riddance might have been 
made long before! 

With the rising sun we glided out of Richmond, 
and, passing fortifications and rifle-pits, soon reached 
Petersburg. Then, with but short detention and no 
notable incidents, we continued on to City Point, on 
the James River,—the place of exchange. It was not 
far from noon when we came within sight of the most 
glorious and fascinating object on the American conti¬ 
nent !—the “ Stars and Stripes,” which we had not seen 
before for eleven months, floating in proud beauty over 
the truce-boat “ State of Maine.” It was a glorious 
vision. Cheer after cheer arose from the cars. The 
guard ordered the noise stopped, but the command was 
unheeded, and the officers did not try to enforce it. 

The memories of that hour are indistinct from their 
very brightness. I seem to see again the great boat with 
its beautiful flag, the line of Federal guards with their 
bright blue uniforms, the gray-clad company for whom 
we were to be exchanged, and who did not seem nearly 
so glad as ourselves, and my own tattered and starved 
companions, some three hundred in number. I hear 
once more the seemingly interminable reading of names, 
the checking of lists, the wrangling over trifles, and at 
last the order—which needed no repetition—to go on 
board. There was still a sense of trembling and appre¬ 
hension until the boat actually pushed off and we were 
on our way down the James. 

Then our delight was boundless. We had awak- 


SICKNESS AND LIBERTY. 


337 


enecl from a hideous nightmare-dream to find that all 
its shapes of horror and grinning fiends had passed 
away and left us in the sunlight once more. Our hearts 
kept time with the glad threshing of our wheels on the 
water, and sang within us, knowing that each ponder¬ 
ous stroke was placing a greater distance between us 
and our dreaded foes. 

The hearty, cheerful welcome we met on board was 
no small element in our pleasure. We were hungry— 
no wonder after a year’s fasting—and we were fed,—the 
only difficulty being to avoid hurtful excess. With a 
full supply of provisions and a large tin cup of coffee—I 
am not sure that so good a cup of coffee has been made 
since—I sat down and ate slowly, as if I could never 
have enough. Then I wandered all over the boat, from 
the upper deck and the cabin down to the hold, in the 
mere wantonness of liberty. To go about with no 
guard watching me was as strange as it was delightful. 
The act of going up to, and passing unchecked through 
a door, was a great pleasure! I saw little of the 
country through which we passed, for the mind was 
too busy. No emotion on earth has the same sweep 
and intensity as the throbbing sensations that rush 
through the bosom of the liberated captive! 

I have no recollection whatever of the lower James, 
of Fortress Monroe, of the Chesapeake. In all my 
memoranda no word occurs of these things. Whether 
the hours were spent in sleep or waking, whether the 
monotony of happiness obliterated memory, or nature, 
weakened by disease and exhausted by too great a mul¬ 
tiplicity of sensations, refused to receive new impressions, 
I know not; but not until we were near Washington 
can I again recall passing events. Then we thronged 
to the vessel’s side, and bent loving eyes upon the 
snowy front of our beautiful Capitol. It seemed* a far 
more grand and fitting emblem of our country’s power 
now than when I had first looked upon it, an inex¬ 
perienced boy, in the far-away opening of the war, 
p w 29 


338 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


though only two years had elapsed since that time. In 
those two years the whole country had learned many 
lessons, and to me they were an age! 

Here a brief controversy arose with the commander 
of the truce-boat. He had orders to forward all the 
exchanged soldiers to the parole camp at Annapolis, and 
wished to send our party with them. I demurred, 
feeling that it was right for us to report at Washington, 
at military headquarters. General Mitchel, who sent 
us forth upon our expedition, was dead. Our leader, 
Andrews, was no more. How many of our officers had 
fallen in the sanguinary battles of the West we knew 
not; possibly we had been reported as dead and our 
places filled. This, we afterwards learned, was actually 
the case. The right place for us to report, in order 
that everything might be put in proper shape, was at 
Washington, and to the Secretary of War, Hon. Edwin 
M. Stanton, in person. Our case, as the rebels had 
been showing to our cost for the past year, was not that 
of ordinary prisoners of war, and we thought ourselves 
entitled to claim the same distinction on Federal soil. 
I therefore informed the commander that we had urgent 
business with Secretary Stanton, and must be sent to 
him. He was a little incredulous at first, but as soon 
as I gave my reasons he gracefully yielded. 

Our reception in Washington was even more cordial 
than it had been on the truce-boat. We were provided 
with most comfortable quarters, and literally feasted on 
the best the city afforded. Secretary Stanton asked us 
to go before Judge-Advocate-General Holt and there 
give our deposition, that the full particulars of what he 
was pleased to consider our extraordinary adventures 
might be given to the world on an unquestionable 
basis. Our first visit to Judge Holt was merely 
friendly, at which Major-General Hitchcock and Mr. 
J. C. Wetmore, Ohio State Agent, were also present. 
We were invited to come again on the morrow, when 
we found a justice of the peace and a phonographer to 


SICKNESS AND LIBERTY . 


339 


take our testimony. I was questioned first, and the 
examination covered all the outlines of the story. All 
were sworn except Mason, who was unable from illness 
to be present. The result of the examination, together 
with Judge Holt’s comments upon it, were published 
in the Army and Navy Gazette of that date. 

General Hitchcock then accompanied us in our call 
upon Secretary Stanton, where we enjoyed a most de¬ 
lightful interview. At its close he brought out six 
medals which had been prepared according to a recent 
act of Congress and left to his disposal. He said that 
they were the first given to private soldiers in this war. 
Jacob Parrot, the boy who had endured the terrible 
beating, received, as he well deserved, the first one. 

Secretary Stanton next presented us one hundred 
dollars each from the secret service fund as pocket- 
money, and gave orders for payment to us of all ar¬ 
rearages, and for refunding to us the value of the 
money and arms taken from us at our capture. This 
was not all. He tendered us, each one, a commission 
in the regular army, and on our expressing a prefer¬ 
ence for the volunteer service, he requested Governor 
Tod, of Ohio, to give us equivalent promotion in our 
own regiments. These commissions were promptly 
given, but through ill health, some of our number, my¬ 
self included, were not able to be mustered as officers. 

Stanton praised the bravery of Mitchel in the high¬ 
est terms, and stated that he had been aware of our 
expedition, but, until the escape of our eight comrades 
in October, had supposed that we had all perished; 
that he had then threatened retaliation in -case any 
more of us were executed, and had demanded to know 
the reason for the execution of the seven who had been 
put to death. It was answered that the Confederate 
government had no knowledge of the death of any 
member of the party. Since that time he had been 
most anxious to effect our exchange, and by special 
effort had at last succeeded in arranging it. 


340 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


We were then escorted to the Executive Mansion, 
and had a most pleasing interview with President Lin¬ 
coln. We told him many incidents of prison experi¬ 
ence and received his sympathizing comments in return. 

After taking our leave of the President we received 
transportation at government expense to our homes. 
The joy of our reception in our own Ohio and among 
our own kindred I will not attempt to describe. 


APPENDIX. 


nxTo. x. 

EXTRACTS FROM THE REPORT OF JUDGE-ADVOCATE- 
GENERAL HOLT TO THE SECRETARY OF WAR. 

“ Judge-Advocate-General’s Office, 

“ Mfirch 27, 1863. 

“ Sir, —I have the honor to transmit for your con¬ 
sideration the accompanying depositions of Sergeant 
William Pittenger, Company G, Second Regiment, 
Ohio Volunteers; Private Jacob Parrot, Company K, 
Thirty-third Regiment, Ohio Volunteers; Private 
Robert Buffum, Company H, Twenty-first Ohio Volun¬ 
teers ; Corporal William Reddick, Company B, Thirty- 
third Regiment, Ohio Volunteers; and Private Wil¬ 
liam Bensinger, Company G, Twenty-first Regiment, 
Ohio Volunteers; taken at this office on the 25th in¬ 
stant, in accordance with your written instructions; 
from which the following facts will appear: 

“These non-commissioned officers and privates be¬ 
longed to an expedition set on foot in April, 1862, at 
the suggestion of Mr. J. J. Andrews, a citizen of Ken¬ 
tucky, who led it, and under the authority and direc¬ 
tion of General O. M. Mitchel, the object of which was 
to destroy the communications on the Georgia State 
Railroad between Atlanta and Chattanooga. 

“The mode of operation proposed was to reach a 
point on the road where they could seize a locomotive 
and train of cars, and then dash back in the direction 
of Chattanooga, cutting the telegraph wires and burn- 
29* 341 



342 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


ing the bridges behind them as they advanced, until 
they reached their own lines. The expedition consisted 
of twenty-four men, who, with the exception of its 
leader, Mr. Andrews, and another citizen of Kentucky, 
—who acted on the occasion as the substitute of a sol¬ 
dier,—had been selected from the different companies 
for their known courage and discretion. They were 
informed that the movement was to be a secret one, and 
they doubtless comprehended something of its perils, 
but Mr. Andrews and Mr. Reddick alone seem to have 
known anything of its precise direction or object. 
They, however, voluntarily engaged in it, and made 
their way, in parties of two or three, in citizen’s dress, 
and carrying only their side-arms, to Chattanooga, the 
point of rendezvous agreed upon, where twenty-two 
out of the twenty-four arrived safely. Here they took 
passage, without attracting observation, for Marietta, 
which they reached at twelve o’clock on the night of 
the 11th of April. On the following morning they 
took the cars back again towards Chattanooga, and at 
a place called Big Shanty, while the engineer and pas¬ 
sengers were breakfasting, they detached the locomotive 
and three box-cars from the train and started at full 
speed for Chattanooga. They were now upon the field 
of the operations proposed by the expedition, but sud¬ 
denly encountered unforeseen obstacles. According to 
the schedule of the road, of which Mr. Andrews had 
possessed himself, they should have met but a single 
train on that day, whereas they met three, two of them 
being engaged on extraordinary service. About an 
hour was lost in waiting to allow these trains to pass, 
which enabled their pursuers to press closely upon 
them. They removed rails, threw out obstructions on 
the road, and attained, when in motion, a speed of sixty 
miles an hour; but the time lost could not be regained. 
After having run about one hundred miles they found 
their supply of wood, water, and oil exhausted, while 
the rebel locomotive which had been chasing them was 


APPENDIX. 


343 


in sight. Under these circumstances they had no al¬ 
ternative hut to abandon their cars and fly to the woods, 
which they did, under the orders of Mr. Andrews, each 
one endeavoring to save himself as best he might. 

“ The expedition thus failed from causes which re¬ 
flected neither upon the genius by which it was planned, 
nor upon the intrepidity and discretion of those engaged 
in executing it. But for the accident of meeting these 
trains,—which could not have been anticipated,—the 
movement would have been a complete success, and the 
whole aspect of the Avar in the South and the South Avest 
Avould have been at once changed. The expedition 
itself, in the daring of its conception, had the Avildness 
of a romance; Avhile in the gigantic and overAvhelming 
results which it sought, and was likely to accomplish, 
it Avas absolutely sublime. 

“ The twenty-two captives, Avlien secured, Avere thrust 
into the negro jail of Chattanooga. They occupied a 
single room, half under ground, and but thirteen feet 
square, so that there was not space enough for them all 
to lie down together, and a part of them Avere, in con¬ 
sequence, obliged to sleep sitting and leaning against 
the Avails. The only entrance Avas through a trap-door 
in the ceiling, that Avas raised tAvice a day to let doAvn 
their scanty meals, which Avere lowered in a bucket. 
They had no other light or ventilation than that which 
came through tAA r o small, triple-grated AvindoAvs. They 
Avere covered Avith SAvarming vermin, and the heat Avas 
so oppressive that they were often obliged to strip them¬ 
selves entirely of their clothes to bear it. Add to this, 
they Avere all handcuffed, and, Avith trace-chains secured 
around their necks by padlocks, Avere fastened to each 
other in companies of tAvos and threes. Their food, 
which Avas doled out to them twice a day, consisted of 
a little flour wet Avith AA 7 ater and baked in the form of 
bread, and spoiled pickled beef. They had no oppor¬ 
tunity of procuring supplies from the outside, nor had 
they any means of doing so,—their pockets having been 


344 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


rifled of their last cent by the Confederate authorities, 
prominent among whom was a rebel officer wearing the 
uniform of a major. No part of the money thus basely 
taken was ever returned.” 

[The report narrates the continued sufferings of the 
adventurers in prison substantially as they are given in 
the preceding pages, and concludes:] 

“ So they remained until a few days since, when they 
were exchanged; and thus, at the end of eleven months, 
terminated their pitiless persecutions in the prisons of 
the South,—persecutions begun and continued amid in¬ 
dignities and sufferings on their part, and atrocities on 
the part of their traitorous foes, which illustrate far 
more faithfully than any human language could ex¬ 
press it the demoniac spirit of a revolt, every throb of 
whose life is a crime against the very race to which we 
belong. 

“ Very respectfully, your obedient servant, 

“J. Holt, 

“ Judge-Advocate-General. 

“ Hon. Edwin M. Stanton, 

“ Secretary of War.” 


APPENDIX. 


345 


ZDsTo. II. 

A SOUTHERN ESTIMATE. 

The following extracts from an editorial published 
in the Atlanta Southern Confederacy of April 15 , 1862 , 
will serve to show the intense excitement of the hour: 

“THE GREAT RAILROAD CHASE! 

“ TIIE MOST EXTRAORDINARY AND ASTOUNDING ADVEN¬ 
TURE OF THE WAR!! 


“ THE MOST DARING UNDERTAKING THAT YANKEES EVER 
PLANNED OR ATTEMPTED TO EXECUTE ! 

“ Stealing an Engine—Tearing up the Track—Pursued 
on Foot, on Hand-Cars, and Engines — Overtaken — 
A Scattering—The Capture—The Wonderful Energy 
of Messrs. Fuller , Murphy, and Cain—Some Reflec¬ 
tions, Etc., Etc. 

“ Since our last issue we have obtained full particu¬ 
lars of the most thrilling railroad adventure that ever 
occurred on the American continent, as well as the 
mightiest and most important in its results, if success¬ 
ful, that has been conceived by the Lincoln government 
since the commencement of this war. Nothing on so 
grand a scale has been attempted, and nothing within 
the range of possibility could be conceived that would 
fall with Such a tremendous, crushing force upon us as 
the accomplishment of the plans which were concocted 
and dependent upon the execution of the one whose 
history we now proceed to narrate. 

“ Its reality—what was actually done —excels all the 
extravagant conceptions of the Arrowsmith hoax, which 
fiction created such a profound sensation in Europe. 


346 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


“ To make the matter more complete and intelligible, 
we will take our readers over the same history of the 
case we related in our last, the main features of which 
are correct, but lacking in details which have since 
come to hand. 

“ We will begin at the breakfast-table of the Big 
Shanty Hotel at Camp McDonald, where several regi¬ 
ments of soldiers are now encamped. The morning 
mail and passenger train had left here at four a.m. on 
last Saturday morning as usual, and had stopped there 
for breakfast. The conductor, William A. Fuller, the 
engineer, J. Cain,—both of this city,—and the passen¬ 
gers were at the table, when the eight men, having un¬ 
coupled the engine and three empty box-cars next to it 
from the passenger and baggage-cars, mounted the en¬ 
gine, pulled open the valve, put on all steam, and left 
conductor, engineer, passengers, spectators, and the sol¬ 
diers in the camp hard by, all lost in amazement, and 
dumbfounded at the strange, startling, and daring act. 

“ This unheard-of act was doubtless undertaken at 
that time and place upon the presumption that pursuit 
could not be made by an engine short of Kingston, 
some thirty miles above, or from this place; and by 
cutting down the telegraph wires as they proceeded the 
adventurers could calculate on at least three or four 
hours the start of any pursuit it was reasonable to ex¬ 
pect. This was a legitimate conclusion, and but for 
the will, energy, and quick good judgment of Mr. Ful¬ 
ler and Mr. Cain, and Mr. Anthony Murphy, the in¬ 
telligent and practical foreman of the wood department 
of the State Koad shop, who accidentally went on the 
train from this place that morning, their calculations 
would have worked out as originally contemplated, and 
the results would have been obtained long ere this 
reaches the eyes of our readers,—the most terrible to 
us of any we can conceive as possible, and unequalled 
by anything attempted or conceived since this war com¬ 
menced. 


APPENDIX. 


347 


“ Now for the chase!” 

[The account, which fills a whole page of the paper, 
is omitted, as it differs in no essential particular from 
that given in the foregoing pages. In concluding, the 
editor gives his estimate of the purpose and magnitude 
of the expedition.] 

“ We do not know what Governor Brown will do in 
this case, or what is his custom in such matters, but, if 
such a thing is admissible, we insist on Fuller and 
Murphy being promoted to the highest honors on the 
road,—if not by actually giving them the highest posi¬ 
tion, at least let them be promoted by brevet. Cer¬ 
tainly their indomitable energy and quick correct 
judgment and decision in the many difficult contingen¬ 
cies connected with this unheard-of emergency has 
saved all the railroad bridges above Ringgold from 
being burned; the most daring scheme that this revo¬ 
lution has developed has been thwarted, and the tre¬ 
mendous results, which, if successful, can scarcely be 
imagined, much less described, have been averted. 
Had they succeeded in burning the bridges, the enemy 
at Huntsville would have occupied Chattanooga before 
Sunday night. Yesterday they would have been in 
Knoxville, and thus had possession of all East Tennes¬ 
see. Our forces at Knoxville, Greenville, and Cum¬ 
berland Gap would ere this have been in the hands of 
the enemy. Lynchburg, Virginia, would have been 
moved upon at once. This would have given them 
possession of the valley of Virginia, and Stonewall 
Jackson would have been attacked in the rear. They 
would have had possession of the railroad leading to 
Charlottesville and Orange Court-House, as well as the 
South Side Railroad leading to Petersburg and Rich¬ 
mond. They might have been able to unite with Mc¬ 
Clellan’s forces and attack Joe Johnston’s army front 
and flank. It is not by any means improbable that 
our army in Virginia would have been defeated, cap¬ 
tured, or driven out of the State this week. 


348 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


“ Then reinforcements from all the eastern and south¬ 
eastern portion of the country would have been cut off 
from Beauregard. The enemy have Huntsville now, 
and with all these designs accomplished his army would 
have been effectually flanked. The mind and heart 
shrink back appalled at the’ bare contemplation of the 
awful consequences which would have followed the 
success of this one act. When Fuller, Murphy, and 
Cain started from Big Shanty on foot to catoh that fugi¬ 
tive engine , they were involuntarily laughed at by the 
crowd, serious as the matter was,—and to most ob¬ 
servers it was indeed most ludicrous; but that foot-race 
saved us, and prevented the consummation of all these 
tremendous consequences. 

“ We doubt if the victory of Manassas or Corinth 
were worth as much to us as the frustration of this 
grand coup d^'etat. It is not by any means certain that 
the annihilation of Beauregard’s whole army at Corinth 
would be so fatal a blow to us as would have been the 
burning of the bridges at that time and by these men. 

“ When we learned by a private telegraph dispatch 
a few days ago that the Yankees had taken Huntsville, 
we attached no great importance to it. We regarded 
it merely as a dashing foray of a smaN party to destroy 
property, tear up the road, etc., & la Morgan. When 
an additional telegram announced the force there to be 
from seventeen to twenty thousand, we were inclined to 
doubt it,—though coming from a perfectly upright and 
honorable gentleman, who would not be likely to seize 
upon a wild report to send here to his friends. The 
coming to that point with a large force, where they 
would be flanked on either side by our army, we re¬ 
garded as a most stupid and unmilitary act. We now 
understand it all. They v^ere to move upon Chatta¬ 
nooga and Knoxville as soon as the bridges were burnt, 
and press on into Virginia as far as possible, and take 
all our forces in that State in the rear. It was all the 
deepest-laid scheme, and on the grandest scale, that 


APPENDIX. 


349 


ever emanated from the brains of any number of Yan¬ 
kees combined. It was one, also, that *was entirely 
practicable for almost any day for the last year. There 
were but two miscalculations in the whole programme: 
they did not expect men to start out afoot to pursue 
them, and they did not expect these pursuers on foot 
to find Major Cooper’s old ‘Yonah’ standing there 
already fired up. Their calculations on every other 
point were dead certainties. 

“ This would have eclipsed anything Captain Mor¬ 
gan ever attempted. To think of a parcel of Federal 
soldiers—officers and privates—coming down into the 
heart of the Confederate States,—for they were here in 
Atlanta and at Marietta (some of them got on the train 
at Marietta that morning, and others were at Big 
Shanty); of playing such a serious game on the State 
road, which is under the control of our prompt, ener¬ 
getic, and sagacious governor, known as such all over 
America ; to seize the passenger train on his road, right 
at Camp McDonald, where he has a number of Georgia 
regiments encamped, and run off with it; to burn the 
bridges on the same road, and go safely through to the 
Federal lines,—all this would have been a feather in 
the cap of the man or men who executed it.” 


30 


350 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


2STo_ III. 

A FRENCHMAN’S VIEW OF THE CHATTANOOGA RAILROAD 
EXPEDITION. 

The following extract from the “ History of the 
Civil War in America,” by the Comte de Paris (vol. 
ii. pp. 187, 188), is suggestive and characteristic, 
though erroneous in many particulars. The numbers 
of those who escaped and of those who perished are re¬ 
versed, and the cause assigned for the failure of the ex¬ 
pedition is purely imaginary; but the local coloring is 
exquisite: 

“ Among the expeditions undertaken by Mitchel’s 
soldiers at this period, we must mention one which, 
despite its tragic termination, shows what a small band 
of daring men could attempt in America; it will give 
an idea of the peculiar kind of warfare which served as 
an interlude to the regular campaigns of large armies. 
An individual named Andrews, employed in the secret 
service of Buell, and twenty-two soldiers selected by 
him, went to Chattanooga under different disguises, 
and thence to Marietta, in Georgia, which had been 
assigned them as a place of rendezvous, and which was 
situated in the very centre of the enemy’s country. 
Once assembled, they got on board a train of cars 
loaded with Confederate troops and ammunition. Dur¬ 
ing the trip this train stopped, as usual, near a lonely 
tavern close to the track; everybody got out, and both 
engineer and fireman went quietly to breakfast. An¬ 
drews took advantage of their absence to jump upon the 
locomotive, which was detached by his men, with three 
cars, from the rest of the train; they started olf at full 
speed, leaving their fellow-travellers in a state of stupe¬ 
faction. At the stations where they stopped they quietly 


APPENDIX. 


351 


answered that they were carrying powder to Beaure¬ 
gard’s army. Presently they began the work of destruc¬ 
tion which they had projected; they cut the telegraph 
wires, tore up the rails behind them, and proceeded to 
fire the bridges which they reached on their way to 
Chattanooga. They hoped to arrive at that city before 
the news of their expedition had spread abroad, to pass 
rapidly through it, and join Mitchel at Huntsville. 
But it was necessary to avoid the trains running in the 
opposite direction. One of these trains, which they 
had just passed on the way, after exchanging the most 
satisfactory explanations, reached an embankment, 
where Andrews had torn up the rails and made every 
preparation to throw the cars off the track. The con¬ 
ductor discovered the trap in time, and backed his en¬ 
gine instantly, in order to overtake those who laid it. 
At his approach the Federals made off in great haste, 
throwing out of the cars everything that could embar¬ 
rass their flight. They at first got a little ahead, and 
the few occupants of log huts lying contiguous to the 
railway track looked on without understanding this 
strange pursuit. But, being short of fuel, they soon 
began to lose ground ; they could not stop long enough 
to tear up rails; they tried in vain to keep up the fire 
of their engine; they were about to be overtaken; their 
oil had given out; the axle-boxes were melted by the 
friction. The game was lost; they stopped the engine 
and rushed into the woods, where they hoped to con¬ 
ceal themselves. Meanwhile, the telegraph had every¬ 
where announced their presence, and the entire popula¬ 
tion started in pursuit. A regular hunt was organized 
in these vast forests, and Andrews was captured with 
all his men. The majority of them were shut up in 
narrow iron cages and publicly exhibited at Knoxville, 
to intimidate the Union men, after which fifteen of 
them were hung; the remaining eight were spared, and 
had the good fortune to survive and relate their strange 
adventures.” 


352 


CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 


1ST a. IV. 

OLD SCENES REVISITED. 

Nearly twenty years after the events narrated in the 
preceding pages the writer passed over the same ground 
again. Many of the prisons iu which he had been con¬ 
fined were no more. In some cases even their sites 
had been so changed by the altering and grading of 
streets as to be undiscoverable. But the railroad from 
Chattanooga to Atlanta continued to be one of the most 
important in the whole South, and the memory of the 
captured train and the stirring events connected with 
it had become a cherished local tradition. The princi¬ 
pal pursuers were also found, some of them being still 
in the employ of the same railroad, and others located 
in Atlanta. From these former enemies nothing but 
kindness was experienced. The very locomotive which 
had been captured was repaired and continued in use, 
the writer having the pleasure of once more riding over 
the road on a train drawn by it. The same stations 
were passed. Many of the smaller towns were exter¬ 
nally almost unchanged. Yet everywhere there was 
a new atmosphere. War and slavery had vanished, 
and the enterprises of peace were in the ascendant. 
Chattanooga and Atlanta displayed wonderful improve¬ 
ment, having become like Northern towns in the rush 
of their business and the character of their population, 
—the latter city, however, to a less degree than the 
former. 

But a still deeper and more melancholy interest was 
felt in seeking for the bodies of those who had perished 
so tragically in Atlanta while rebellion was still in the 


APPENDIX ; 


353 


plenitude of its power. Of the grave of Andrews, 
himself, no trace could be found. Many old citizens 
could point out the spot where his scaffold h^id been 
erected, and near which he had been buried. But that 
portion of the town had been entirely burnt by Sher¬ 
man, and when rebuilt the streets had been raised to a 
higher level and rearranged, so that the precise location 
of the grave is probably forever lost. 

The scaffold of the seven soldiers was erected in a 
little wood directly east of the Atlanta city cemetery, 
about an acre of ground being cleared for that purpose. 
On this spot, which is now included within the bounds 
of the cemetery, the terrible tragedy took place. The 
heart of the writer was almost overwhelmed as he stood 
there on a peaceful Sabbath afternoon and brought back 
in recollection that hour of horror ! When the work 
of death was completed the bodies were placed side by 
side in a wide trench at the foot of the scaffold and 
covered over. So profound was the impression made 
by their heroism that the place of burial could not be 
forgotten, and was often visited by sympathizing friends 
even during the continuance of the war. But this rude 
grave is now empty, and for a time the writer could 
not ascertain what disposition had been made of its con¬ 
tents. An old man formerly connected with the ceme¬ 
tery at length supplied the information that the bodies 
had been removed, not to the Federal cemetery at 
Marietta, as had been first conjectured, but to the more 
distant and larger one at Chattanooga. Here, in prob¬ 
ably the most beautiful of all the National cemeteries, 
the graves were found. In Section H, placed in the 
open space about the centre, which is usually assigned 
to commissioned officers, the seven heroes have obtained 
a final resting-place. There is a headstone, with name 
and rank, at each grave, and the seven are arranged in 
the form of a semicircle. This part of the cemetery 
overlooks a long stretch of the Georgia State Railroad, 
the great prize they struggled to seize for their country 


354 ' CAPTURING A LOCOMOTIVE. 

and thus lost their lives. From this spot the frequent 
trains are distinctly visible. Watched by the moun¬ 
tains and undisturbed by the passing tide of human 
activity, they rest here as peacefully as if death had 
stolen upon them in the midst of friends at home in¬ 
stead of rushing down amid the gloom and horror of 
that memorable Atlanta scaffold. 


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